


Warm Past Morning

by ice_hot_13



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 19:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ice_hot_13/pseuds/ice_hot_13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond is incapable of committing to a serious relationship. Amherst Villiers won't have anything else.  (written ages ago, posted for archiving purposes)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dangerously Distracting

Amherst Villiers had long since given up any pretext of working; M had called him into the office at three in the morning, and it was now ten. While sunlight had slowly advanced across the mostly empty office through the wide window behind him, he'd been pouring over reports and typing up handwritten notes and making appointments, but after seven hours before it had even turned noon, he'd lost a good deal of his determination. He was slowly spinning in his office chair, wondering when M would holler-

"Get him on the phone  _i-mme-diately!"_  And there it was.  _Him,_ of course, was James Bond. That went without saying- the seething anger carried in just that one word made it clear, seeing as no one else could infuriate her to such an extreme degree. While M watched, arms crossed over her chest, Amherst dialed Bond's cell phone, wishing he'd taken Jenny up on her bet that Bond's credit cards and passports were about to get revoked again. The screen came up on the opposite wall, something Amherst had always found fascinating. Amherst put the phone on speakerphone, and the ringing tone filled the office. Then the phone was picked up, and they heard the faint din of people in the background. On the screen, a world map flashed up.

"Yes?" Somehow, Bond managed to make the single word ring with irritation.

"Bond, where the hell are you?" M snapped, watching the screen. On the map that was reflected onto it before him, a red dot appeared, showing Bond to be Rome, for reasons unknown. He certainly hadn't been sent there. Amherst hid a grin behind his hand, for fear of M seeing him.  _I think we'd die of shock if he was actually where he'd been sent and doing what he'd been told._

"Rome. Spanish steps. I believe it's on the screen before you, if you wish to confirm this."

"The reason I'm calling, as I'm sure you're aware, is because you're not  _supposed_ to be there, Bond!"

"While it is true that I'm meant to be in Paris, I wouldn't say I'm restricted from Rome." His tone was metered with a patience that was most definitely false, "Technically."

"Bond, I want you where I sent you! That is why I sent you! If I wanted you to go gallivanting around Europe, I would have handed you an assignment file that said such an atrocity!"

Amherst tuned out for most of their conversation, just listening to the voices, and trying to decide just how much he'd raise the bet with Jenny after this terse conversation that consisted, basically, of M demanding that Bond get back on the damn schedule before she murdered him, Bond insisting he'd found a better lead to follow, M grudgingly accepting this and then demanding that he be at the event he'd found, Bond saying he would, M ensuring he would by enforcing it with a list of threats, at the top of which was the withdrawal of his credit cards and passports. Quite predictably.

James Bond, meanwhile, was casually weaving around tourists on the Spanish steps, only half listening to M's instructions. He could almost see M's exasperated look when he told her he was out traveling around Europe without telling her exactly what he was doing.

"Bond, you'd find it very hard to get around without a passport" M 's warning made Bond sigh softly, as he stopped at the top of the steps to sink back into the shadow cast by the wall around the smaller staircase.

"I'll be at the sponsor event tonight." Bond promised, running a hand through his blonde hair absent-mindedly, trying not to appear worried and conspicuous. Before him, people were milling about the steps; a few children were running up and down, teenagers were talking, a man was selling whistles that made a noise like a duck's call, a young couple was sitting together, a weathered business man was howling into his phone in wrathful Italian.

"Do try not to kill any of the main leads" M said dryly, "it's rather inconvenient." And then he heard a laugh he recognized, that told him M wasn't the only one in the room.

"And exactly what is so amusing about that?" he shot at Villiers. He could perfectly envision the smile of M's aide, and the supposed haughty amusement infuriated him.

"Bond, don't get distracted." M demanded. "Please just get to the event in one piece."

Bond snapped the phone shut, but it was too late. His focus was slipping away from him again, which thoroughly aggravated him, which, in turn, made him lose more focus.

The cycle was so brutal by that the time he'd charmed his way into the attention of a main lead, he was badly, if unnoticeably, out of tune with the plan. The woman was saying something, and he trained his gaze on her face. Luminous green eyes were alight with tease.

"Perhaps we could find somewhere else?" Her Italian accent had her R's rolling and words flowing, but it was all lost on James. She could have been speaking Icelandic, for all he noticed, and it was only by a miracle that he was comprehending her meaning.

"Yes" he agreed instantly, if somewhat emotionlessly, giving no response as her hand was slipped around his arm, "somewhere more… private."

In a hotel room twenty-four floors above the sponsor event, James watched Cammilla sweep across the room, shawl sliding from her shoulders as she opened the door to the bedroom.

"Coming?" the shawl pooled on the floor, and she beckoned for him to follow. James slipped into the dimly lit bedroom, Cammilla already pushing off his jacket and starting on the buttons of his shirt with a dancing touch. "Must ask, darling" she murmured, fingers flighty, "because there's a little requirement."

"What might that be?" He was prepared for anything, as there wasn't much he had yet to encounter. She tossed her mane of nearly-black hair over her shoulder, turning green eyes to his face, as suspiciously playful smile appeared on her lips. "I believe I can fulfill a great many requirements."

"Mmmm perhaps" a quick kiss dropped to his lips. "Ever slept with another man?" she whispered in his ear. James's chest tightened, the concept of breathing completely forgotten. His hands ceased to move, and she noticed this with a pronounced pout.

"I have not." He felt her exhaled breath of disappointment, although the emphasis made it more like unabashed scorn. And before he could truly grasp what had happened, the door had clicked shut and he was alone in the room.

Within the hour, he'd found another lead, and it didn't take more than an hour more before he was back on the streets of Rome, calling M to report that he had yet to eliminate a lead and had obtained information as well.

"I'm impressed" She said sarcastically when he informed her of this fact, "but what happened to the first lead? She was of a much higher status than the other within the organization. I'd find it a great inconvenience if you killed her."

"That did not… work out as planned." Bond was back to roaming around the Spanish steps, as they were merely around the corner from the hotel where the event had taken place, and the people around served to drown out his conversation amidst the noise, even this late at night.

"What happened?" The crisp snap to her words informed him, quite obviously, of her disapproval.

"She had certain… terms that had to be met which I was not… qualified for." James wandered down a side street, past darkened shop windows and the odd streetlight.

"Such as?" M persisted. James scowled, wanting nothing more than to snap the phone shut and fling it into the path of a truck.

"It was merely a ridiculous requirement" His hold on the phone tightened, jaw clenched. "Absolutely insignificant."

"Bond." Nothing more had to be said. He was going to be forced to say it, so he grit his teeth and hoped that no one else would find out about it.

"She is only interested in someone who has slept with another man before" James finally spat out, struggling to keep his voice neutral. "And I made the mistake of telling her how I haven't." And then he heard laughter in the background: Villiers, snickering.

"Bond-" M started, but he'd snapped the phone closed before she could complete the sentence.

*

The man was running across the bridge that arched over the main canal, sliding in and out of shadows. James dashed up the steps after him, gun slick in his hand, darting back and forth so as to avoid the shots fired at random. Their running footsteps were the only sounds echoing around the stone buildings, up to the darkened sky above to become lost in the threatening storm clouds. James nearly missed seeing the man duck through an alleyway, and rounded the corner after him.  _Should have looked at a map,_ he thought furiously,  _and learned where the hell all these bloody alleyways lead._ Even his thoughts were petulant. He'd sulked his way through the last phone calls to M and cut out of the evening party early to tail this aggravatingly fast lead. The man was climbing over the side of the bridge, to a waiting speedboat. James leapt over the side, and, one hand clinging to the railing of the bridge, raised his gun to shoot. The man glanced back once, and in the dim glow of the streetlight, nearly-black eyes somehow appeared… almost amber.

James faltered.

The man then fired off a shot. James had already loosened his hold, tumbling down further, missing the bullet. He shot, and fell. He didn't have the good fortune to be directly above the canal, and fell to the concrete step leading into the water, his left wrist smashing directly onto the edge of the concrete as he fell into the water. The knowledge that he'd hit his target, however, was enough to distract him from the pain. The boat remained motionless on the water, assuring him that he'd not missed his mark. Bond pulled himself out of the water, wincing when he put strain on his wrist. The water was shiver-inducing cold, making his once-nice suit cling to him, enveloping him in cold. As he started away, he heard a soft buzzing noise. His phone, vibrating, up on the bridge where it must have fallen. Bond crossed back over the bridge and answered it.

"Yes?"

"That new lead…" M began, but, noticing his silence, sighed. "You killed him, didn't you?"

"It was necessary."

"I'm sure."

"Any particular  _reason_  this time?"

"Necessity."

"I'm sure." She said again, heavier doubt to her tone. Bond looked out across the water, where the gentle waves from the ocean lapped against the stone, soaking up a reflection of the moon overhead.

"My apologies."

 


	2. Prowling

The office had been deserted all morning, and for most of the afternoon as well. Amherst hadn't even seen M since eight in the morning, after which she'd disappeared into her office for conference calls. And all the agents were off across the globe, several had been for weeks on end. Amherst sighed, tipping back in his wheeled desk chair, one hand on the desk to support himself. The chair teetered a little, balancing on the one wheel.

"Afternoon, Villiers." The crisp greeting made Amherst whip around, and consequently crash to the ground before he could even see who had spoken. Amherst found himself staring at the desk legs, the chair pinning him to the ground, as the door of M's office was opened. Her office was off to the left of the main room, where his desk was.

"Good heavens. First you kill my main leads, and now you're after my aid?" M's prim voice resounded from the doorway. Amherst disentangled himself from the chair on the floor. "Come in." Footsteps, and then the door clicked shut. Amherst righted the chair and stood. He looked from one door to the other, trying to piece together what he'd obviously missed.

"…Bond?"

There was no sign of anyone from M's office by noon, not M herself, and not Bond, whose voice Amherst was _certain_ he'd heard. Amherst wandered off for his lunch break, meeting Jenny at everyone's favorite café down the street.

"There you are!" Jenny chirped when he joined her, waiting for her coffee, "care to make a bet?"

"Definitely." They agreed on twenty, Jenny sure that Bond couldn't possibly manage to get his credit card privileges revoked yet again, Amherst certain he already had.

*

The next morning, Amherst was watching the people down at the street level, moving around on the sidewalk.

"Hello, Villiers." The deliberate, slow greeting made Amherst turn. Bond stood before the desk, hands in his jacket pockets, watching him carefully. Blue eyes, almost alarmingly like ice, studied him.

"Do you have an appointment with M?" Amherst questioned. He knew the answer to this, of course. It may have been a month since they'd last done this, but he recalled the following. No appointment, want to make one, if he must, yes it was necessary, fine put him down for the following day if he so insisted on such a frivolous and superfluous formality, thanks for the cynicism and he had to come back at eight the next morning now please leave the office.

"No." An almost-smile. Bond knew he could get in anywhere. Amherst frowned.

"Would you like to make one?" his hand moved towards the appointment book sitting on the desk.

"No." Bond just stood there, scrutinizing him. He looked more serious than usual.

"No?" Amherst echoed. Bond merely nodded to confirm this. "Then, er… why are you… here?" It seemed a worthy question, but Bond dismissed it, turning his gaze to the window.

"Why do you think?" Amherst had no answer to this strange response. He'd thought, quite apparently, that Bond had intended to see M. The agent stood there for a few more moments, then wandered out again.

James strolled down the hallway, debating what to do next. He'd wandered into the office on a whim, to see exactly why the assistant had been meandering through his thoughts. He blamed that for his slip-up during the mission. Minor as it may have been, it still irritated him to no end. And all he'd learned from his brief visit was that antagonizing Villiers had a certain quality of entertainment to it, and had become something he planned on partaking in again at the next soonest possible date.

*

Amherst had been waiting for the reappearance all week, which eventually came on the following Wednesday. He'd been working on M's appointment arranging, a duty he'd only recently been promoted to taking over from M herself and had since found himself to be rather unskilled at, when the door to the office opened, and Bond strolled in.

"Morning, Villiers."

"Morning, Bond. Here to see M?" Bond was circling around the office almost lazily, hands in his pockets, nonchalant look on his face.

"Merely a formality" This made little sense to Amherst, possibly less than even the last answer a week ago.

"Bond?" the door on the side of the office opened, and M beckoned 007 into the office. "I've been expecting you to drop by sometime."

"Must have been rather dull in the meantime." Bond circled back across the room and followed her.

"Yes, well, we're being granted another two wonderfully dull weeks" M snapped back.

"I'm sure you'll miss me."

"Perhaps. Don't count me as among those who will, Bond."

Villiers turned away from the door, refusing to find out whether he was counted among those people or not.

*

"Afternoon, Villiers." Bond drawled.

"Back so soon?" Amherst didn't turn from the computer screen. "Usually takes longer than two weeks, doesn't it?"

"Completed the mission. And besides, I'm hardly in a state to pursue it any further." Amherst half turned towards him. Bond was, once again, prowling around the office as if he owned it, which he didn't. When he turned, Amherst saw the brace on his left wrist, visible only because the sleeve of the expensive jacket couldn't cover it. "Much as I might try to convince M otherwise."

"You can't convince me because I'm right" M came out of her office, "I can understanding injuring a wrist once. Injuring it again because you were too impatient to wait is sheer idiocy." Bond didn't reply to this, a look akin to haughtiness on his face. M handed off a stack of folders to him, irritation clear from the slap of files hitting Bond's hand. "Reports for you to read. You may have an office, if you like-"

"No" Bond flipped through one of the folders with visible disinterest. "I'll work here." Amherst sighed inwardly, watching M for a sign of anger. Bond was testing her apathy levels again, but at any moment, she was sure to force him into an office and, if need be, lock him in there until the reports were read.

"Whatever gets the reports read" M pivoted and returned to her office. The door clicked shut behind her. Amherst stared after her.

"Here?" Amherst echoed. Bond arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. He left the office, but returned a few moments later with a chair in tow. "May I ask what you're planning to do with that?" A number of things came to mind, and then, because it was 007, several more. Bond continued his silence, and drew the chair up to a corner of Amherst's desk across from him.

"I'm working here." Matter-of-fact tone. Amherst arched an eyebrow.

"So I see." Amherst didn't protest, and there was no way he could have mustered the genuine refusal in any case. Bond situated himself at the corner of the desk to read the reports.

Amherst found it very difficult to concentrate for next few hours.

*

"Good morning, and happy Tuesday!" Jenny called out as Amherst passed her desk. "Care to make a bet today?"

"Maybe" He stopped before her. "What do you have in mind?"

"Ten pounds says he reads four reports today out of the twelve M has lined up for him" Jenny smiled, confidence apparent. Amherst shook his head.

"I say two."

"Perfect."

"Am I allowed to interfere with this report-reading?"

"Good luck" Jenny laughed at the mere suggestion, "Trying to advert his attention from something is like trying to change the course of a train wreck, is it not?"

Amherst found Bond already at _his_ desk, flipping through more reports. He stayed in the doorway, watching the agent, something he didn't get the chance to do very often. Bond had situated himself at the left corner in front of the desk. When he realized what he was doing, though, he slammed the door shut and tore his gaze away from Bond, who had looked around at the sound of the door. Amherst tried his best to ignore the agent, but soon found it impossible.

"You're in a spectacular mood today" Bond commented mildly. Amherst scowled.

"So sorry." He stalked around to his desk, trying to force his movements into something less violent.

"I believe" Bond's voice made Amherst look up, "you've scheduled four appointments for the same day."

"So?"

"At the same time. Or was that intentional?" Amherst snatched back the appointment book from a very smug Bond.

"You're just not reading it correctly."

"I'm sure."

"In any case, who said you're allowed to read it?" He was being petty, and it made him cringe to see the last resorts he'd come to. Bond merely grinned.

"Well if you leave it open…" he began in a very patronizing tone. Amherst resisted the urge to smack him with the book and turned his back instead.

"Very professional of you." he said tightly. Bond snickered and went back to his reading. Amherst found it remarkable that, even when Bond wasn't moving, he still felt like he was being circled by a predator, prowling around, searching for weaknesses. It was a rather unsettling feeling.

*

Amherst took his place behind the desk, watching Bond as if he were a crouching predator. Whenever Bond was in the office, it felt as if 007 was prowling around, deciding when to make his move, whatever it was. Amherst was too scared to ask.

"There's an office down the hall that's vacant, I'm sure of it."

"Here is quite fine." Then he studied Amherst again, in that scrutinizing way he had, "unless I'm that much of an inconvenience to you?" Amherst pondered his answer for several seconds before speaking.

"Do what you wish." He said, dismissive enough to appear apathetic, but not so insistent as to force Bond out of the office.

"You don't mind if I stay?" Bond asked casually. Amherst clenched his jaw.

"Do what you want, Bond."

"I asked if you mind."

"And I said to do whatever you want." Amherst said stubbornly, refusing to even look at Bond.

"Fine then." The finality in Bond's voice made it sound like he planned on leaving, "I'll do what I want." He instead resituated himself at the desk, and made no move to leave. Amherst tried not to find this significant.

*

After a week, Amherst had grown almost accustomed to having Bond nearly at his elbow while he worked. He'd moved from the outside corner of the desk to the inside corner, after M had almost tripped over his chair several times. He was mostly silent, but was sure to take the time to point out how atrocious Amherst's handwriting was, or how he lacked anything akin to talent with computers.

Once Friday was eight hours from being over, though, Amherst was ready to go home. He'd had quite enough of the nagging temptation seated next to him. Bond had pretty much stopped reading reports, reserving his attention for watching Amherst work and remarking unnecessarily on his technique.

"You don't really think it wise to schedule Mr. Jacobs an appointment directly after Ms. Montinique?" Bond asked. Amherst didn't even turn, aware that Bond was reading over his shoulder.

"Why not?"

"M despises Montinique. She'll be in a terribly insufferable mood afterwards, and Mr. Jacobs is a rather valuable client who it wouldn't do good to offend." Amherst nearly growled, and scratched out the appointment.

"I usually don't do the appointments thing" he shot at Bond without looking back at him, in a sort of last defense of himself. "She used to do that herself. I'm still getting better."

"Thank heavens for that."

"You're a dreadful cynic, do you know that?"

"Yes, but it's been a while since anyone's told me that." Amherst glanced back over his shoulder, in time to receive a smile that was half there, part smug and all charmer. He also took too much notice of how Bond had taken off his jacket and had the sleeves of his white button-up shirt rolled up to his elbows. The shirt was almost, if not quite, sheer enough to see the outline of muscles in his chest, and when he shifted to cross his arms over his chest, the muscles in his arms became more defined.

"What?" Bond drawled, seeing the look. Amherst looked away before Bond could see him blush.

"Must you always be so..." Amherst couldn't find a word to describe it and just sighed.

"Yes?"

"Never mind." Amherst nearly growled at him. Several descriptions had come to mind, not a single one of them something he was willing to verbalize. The entire situation was maddening; at least this was Bond's last day in the office. Jenny had already paid Amherst, having lost the bet to him about Bond's report reading progress.

At six, Bond stood, languid in his movements, dragging his chair back to a corner of the office. He routinely left before Amherst did. Amherst was working on the computer when Bond approached the desk again, placing both hands on the desktop, gaze drifting to his face. "Want to go out for a drink?" Amherst stared.

"Why?" he asked slowly.

"Because I'm asking you to." His gaze didn't waver, the shocking blue eyes fixed on Amherst.

"I can't." It was a lie. Both were well aware of that fact. Bond didn't move.

"Eight. Tonight."

"I…"

"Pick you up then."

"But- I have work…"

"Not after eight."

"But…"

"See you then." Bond opened the door. Amherst watched him pause there for just a heartbeat.

"Okay." And the door closed. Amherst just stared at where Bond had been.

James leaned back against the door, exhaling softly. He wasn't quite sure what he'd have done without that soft _okay_.

This was throwing him off, and he needed it over and done with as soon as possible.


	3. Pursuit of Intensity

"So… what was the reason for tonight?" Going out for drinks had been normal enough, but Amherst couldn't help his curiosity. Bond's icy blue stare didn't flicker away from his face for a heartbeat.

"Just a whim." He said, breezily enough to be casual, calculated enough to make obvious the fact that there was an underlying meaning Amherst wouldn't know unless directly informed.

"Want to… come in?" He pushed open the front door to his apartment, hazarding a glance back at James, who had inexplicably followed him up the stairs rather than break off their somewhat meaningless conversation.

"Yes" Bond gave him a sly smile. "If you hadn't asked, I would have broken in anyways."

"I don't doubt it. But first-" Amherst added. Bond arched an eyebrow at this interjection, "You have to tell me why."

"Fine" Bond breezed past him into the apartment.

"And your intentions" Amherst called after him, stopping to look at the door and wonder just how Bond was planning on breaking in.

"I'm surprised you don't already know. Nice apartment." It was more like a loft, and Amherst could see the unexpected approval on Bond's face.

"Nice subject change." Bond turned back to him, and before Amherst could say another word, he had Amherst held against the wall. A shiver of thrill ran through Amherst, as Bond crushed his lips against his in a fierce kiss that told Amherst every intention there could have been. Bond watched cautiously for the response. He'd intended to just get Villiers drunk and therefore willing to do anything, but the man had stayed disappointingly sober throughout the evening, taking down Bond's chances significantly.

"I see" Amherst managed to say in the moments afterwards. Bond paused, and in that second, Amherst kissed him again, effectively giving him the go ahead, one that Bond would use to every extreme. He reached between them and squeezed mercilessly, and Amherst's knees almost buckled, as Bond pressed a hard kiss to his shoulder. A strangled sort of whine escaped him as Bond continued his increasingly merciless handling. A rough upward grind of hips, and Amherst gasped, head hitting the wall as he arched back to meet the movement. He felt his shirt being hastily unbuttoned and tossed to the floor, as pearly teeth savaged his shoulder. Another rough kiss, and he allowed himself to be pulled away from the wall. Amherst smirked as Bond stumbled around the hallway, opening doors and finding a study, room with stacks of books, the kitchen, the entry where they'd started.

"You're two seconds from being taken on the damn floor" Bond growled, before he finally flung open the door to Amherst's bedroom.

"About time" Amherst replied, following Bond through the doorway, "I wouldn't put it past you." Bond just growled again and pushed him on his back.

After moving to his bedroom, kisses turned to bites and touches turned harder, falling into a faster rhythm. And everything whispered of that irresistible lure that meaninglessness seemed fated to have.

*

The next morning, Amherst was sitting at his desk, listlessly staring at the computer screen, following M's usual orders. His day had started out terribly- finding that Bond had left certainly wasn't a surprise, but it was something of a bitter disappointment. Amherst propped his chin on his hand, scanning the end of the document on the screen before him; if he was lucky, he'd understand four words out of sixty, and be able to remembered perhaps two. He'd debated just calling in sick and not coming to work, although it would have been more along the lines of calling in nonfunctional, but guilt had dragged him to the office without so much as a backwards glance at his preference.

"Have you finished the finance reports?" M stood in the doorway of her office, watching him. Again, a look of half amusement and half curiosity crossed her face. Amherst had declined to remove his scarf that morning, lest he display the liberal bites that Bond had left all over him, or the bruises that had shown up. Amherst clicked the mouse a few more times, then nodded.

"Yes."

"Good." She paused, and the look on her face told him what he was going to have to do. He waited to hear it anyways. "Would you set a track on Bond?"

"Yes." A few clicks through a couple programs, and Bond was found on a plane heading for Cairo.

"Thank you." M turned to return to her office, "Keep me updated."

"Yes." Cairo. Amherst tried to stop the sweep of disappointment that coursed through him. Bond had left him alone while he slept, left a mess of bites, bruises and burning lust, to hop a plane for a country countless miles from where Amherst was now. He trailed his fingertips over his neck, feeling the marks left. He knew he wasn't much good at one-night stands. He had a way of getting attached that would never plague someone like Bond.

The door to M's office opened again.

"I can turn up the heater, if you'd like" She offered. Amherst almost blushed.

"I'm fine…"

M hid a smile and retreated back to her office.

*

By the time the week was out, Amherst had seen Bond's location go from Cairo, to Rome, to the Sahara, to countless cities scattered about Europe and the surrounding. "Villiers, can you see if Bond's on schedule?" M asked.

"He's…" Amherst paused, unsure if he could possibly be reading it right, "arriving in London at six…"

"Very well. You should leave here at five to pick him up. I hardly trust him to arrive at the event without making several detours."

Bond was currently several thousand feet in the sky, only half listening to the redhead beside him. He had a tendency to end up talking to women while on the plane, and usually ended up leaving with whoever she was, too. The redhead was talking about something vaguely political, and his gaze wandered from her dark eyes to the slender wineglass in her hand, to his own martini glass, and back to her face again. The fact that she would have him in an instant was obvious, as his gaze flickered down to her hand, which rested on his arm, but he was all-too conscious of the fact that that he just didn't care.  _Maybe I should find Villiers again,_ he thought, while absent-mindedly agreeing with her, "Yes. Precisely," although he had no idea what the hell she was talking about,  _I shouldn't. But…_

Amherst could easily spot Bond, as the agent slipped through the crowd right by him, not even tossing a glance his way. Either Bond was chronically distracted, or he was blatantly ignoring Amherst, which simply wouldn't do. Neither one would, in fact. Amherst made his way around the people, following Bond down a near-deserted hallway. As he watched, Bond approached the frosted glass doors of the first class lounge, and swiped a card through a device, and the doors whispered open.

"Bond!" Bond either didn't hear him, or was ignoring him. Amherst disentangled himself from the mob of people, as the perpetually icy gaze was finally turned to him. If there was anything he was expecting, it wasn't that, as soon as he approached, he wouldn't have a chance to even speak. Bond pulled him forward, hooking his fingers around the pocket of Amherst's jacket, and dragged him into the completely deserted lounge. "Bond-"

"Shut  _up."_ And then Amherst couldn't speak, lips being ravished, breathing suspended from the sheer thrill. Amherst was allowed a second to catch his breath, and he leaned his head back against the wall, lifting his gaze to meet Bond's.

"I…"

Bond watched him a moment longer, and then he was gone, leaving Amherst alone in the empty lounge. He exhaled, shaking his head in annoyance. " _Damn_ him" Amherst ran out after him, certain that Bond was leaving the airport without him. He weaved through the crowds, in the direction he hoped Bond had gone, wondering what M would do if he lost 007.  _She'd probably never have another headache in her life,_ Amherst thought, turning a corner, coming to the baggage claim,  _in the end, I think she'd thank me for losing him._

Bond, meanwhile, was meandering through the airport in the direction of the street. He'd intended to ask Villiers right then and there if he could have the opportunity to, for lack of a more delicate term, sleep with him again. But something about the thoughtfulness in that gaze had given him pause, like Villiers had already figured him out and had, outside Bond's notice, come into controlling what was going on between them- or lack thereof. While Bond was waiting for a taxi, Amherst came up beside him, looking frustrated.

"Care to warn me next time you take off? M wouldn't be so happy if I lost you."

"My apologies." His mind wasn't there, both knew that. Bond didn't give a damn what M would feel, because, as they all knew, she let him do what he wanted because, plain and simple, he knew what he was doing.

Except right now.

When the taxi pulled up, Amherst slid in first, telling the cab driver an address Bond didn't know. Bond stood on the sidewalk, the idea to leave half floating through his mind, until Amherst reached over and grabbed his wrist, yanking him into the cab.

"Where is this soirée to take place?" Bond asked, leaning back against the door so he could look at Amherst, as they started driving away from the airport.

"It's on the edge of town. I'm to bring you there, because she doesn't trust you to get there in one piece, and on time."

"And you volunteered?" Bond half sneered. Amherst didn't react to the tetchy attitude. He checked his watch, hardly affording Bond a look.

"No. But I didn't exactly refuse." Bond's gaze rose to meet his momentarily. "I don't exactly fancy getting fired." Amherst added casually. Bond's hopes died violent deaths; the only outward sign of this was his scowl.

"You must be a gem of an aide." Bond spat out.

"I do try. Would you rather M have come herself?" Amherst shot him a smug smile. Bond remained stoic.

"Not particularly." He snapped the words out in irritated segments.

"You made that apparent." Amherst pointed out, a deliberate casual note to his tone. This made Bond turn slightly towards the window.

"I'm aware." Something about the way he was acting, perhaps the tense set to his shoulders or the slight clench of his jaw, tipped Amherst off to the fact that Bond was expecting some sort of response, confirmation, refusal or otherwise.

"You have, what, leads or suspects to attend to at the party?" Amherst asked, just to see the response his blatant subject switching would get.

"Yes." The word was practically spat out. Amherst almost smiled; Bond was wrathfully impatient. The glacial-blue eyed gaze flickered to him and away again.

"Perhaps it'd be better if I recommend someone else to chaperone you next time?" Amherst suggested lightly.

"I have no complaints that would drive you to do so." Bond practically growled, and if Amherst had to guess, it wasn't because he'd implied that Bond needed a "chaperone."

"Right, right." Amherst looked towards the window. Bond continued to seethe. Not only was Villiers infuriating him, but somehow, and he just couldn't figure out  _how,_ his very presence was the ultimate turn-on. And Bond vehemently cursed him for it. Bond was aware that Villiers was toying with him, and this both irritated him to no end and shoved his already mounting anxiety to an even higher level. All he wanted to know was whether he was wasting his time, and Villiers was taking the opportunity to play particularly cruel head games. Bond wanted to know was if he could have the far-too pleasurable opportunity to fuckhim again, and Villiers was playing gameswith as Bond was trying to formulate a way to say this without sounding petty and needy, a hand crept across his thigh, and Bond quit worrying. His slight smile told Villiers that the correct response had been found.

After depositing the pair at the towering hotel where the event was taking place, the taxi driver just stared after them, trying to make sense of the strange conversation that, while seeming to carry no meaning whatsoever, simultaneously entertained an intensity of an alarming level. It was an effect not easily achieved, and he certainly wasn't to be the last bewildered by it.

 

 


	4. 007 Doesn't Scream

M paused in her weaving through the crowd to ensure that Villiers was still trailing after her while she spoke with clients and guests. He was, looking, as usual during these events, like a lost puppy; he was rather out of his element at the social gatherings, and the fact that he looked the part so well only made it worse for him. People tended to expect more of him in social situations, looking as handsome and at ease in a suit as he did, and were amused when he turned out to be quiet and more of a listener. M said she liked having him around, because he had her schedule memorized, which was usual for when a client wanted to schedule a meeting. At least, that was what she said.

When Bond had come to M16, M had, admittedly, the instinct to mother him. It was hard not to, as all the other Double-O's were so much older, and he truly was alone. Of course, he was far from the ideal person to think of as a son, and it was rather hard to mother someone so detached. He was oftentimes hostile, impossible to connect with, rather cold and unbearably smug sometimes. Yes, at times, he could be borderline affectionate and something resembling friendly, but not always. So she treated him as something other than a son but nonetheless felt like she had the duty to watch out for him as best she could, saving her maternal instincts from the beating he was sure to unconsciously give, and that was that.

Soon after the arrival of that particular shock to her system, she'd decided that she would never let herself become anything like a mother to another agent at M16. What she didn't see coming, however, was the soft-spoken aid, shuffled over from another department to help her temporarily when her own personal aid had retired. And while Bond was increasingly difficult to watch over, Villiers was the son she'd never had, so she'd fought to keep him as her secretary, and the other department had gotten the new recruit so she could keep Villiers. Sometime between the first time he'd given her that pitiful, puppy-dog eyed look of  _do I really have to?_ and coming to recognize the hesitance behind his smile as du to being not unsociable but merely shy, she'd come to mother him. And he was considerably easier to mother. So she'd asked him to come along, worried he'd be lonely at home because she knew, both from knowing him and peeking at his file, that he lived alone. This file was the same one that Bond had sometime earlier had a go at uncovering, before the call in Rome, but hadn't gotten the chance to delve deep enough into the file to discover what he'd wanted to know.

But now Villiers was wandering along after her, and when she glanced back, she saw Bond making his way over, but not towards her. Interesting. He'd been hovering all evening, conversations slightly clipped, attention span shorter than usual, reaction time slightly delayed. He stopped to speak to Villiers.

Amherst was trailing behind M when he felt a hand touch at the small of his back. "There you are" Bond murmured in his ear, "I've been looking for you everywhere."

"I promise I wasn't intentionally avoiding you." Amherst glanced towards M, saw that she was speaking with someone, then turned slightly to glance back at Bond.

"Good." A slight smile. "Come." And he'd walked away, leaving Amherst to decide whether to follow or stay.

He followed.

"How far away did you park?" Amherst asked, loping along beside him. Bond shrugged a shoulder.

"Far away enough." The Aston Martin was parked in a deserted corner of the lot, nearly blending into the darkness with its black paintjob and black-tinted windows.

"I like the sunshade." Amherst remarked sarcastically, "useful, what with all this sun." He looked pointedly up at the moon. Bond nearly made a face at him, and Amherst just barely kept from bursting out laughing. Reserved, haughty Bond, acting immature. Laughable.

Within a few minutes of unlocking the Aston Martin and shutting the car door behind them, Amherst was being pushed onto the backseat, already being kissed senseless. He had his shoulders shoved into one seat, back arching over the separator between the two seats. However uncomfortable, the hands that roamed from his shoulders downward and the tongue that was exploring his mouth were enough to fully distract him.

"You come to the party with this in mind?" Amherst murmured.

"Why do you think I left and drove myself here?" Bond replied, smirk evident in his tone.

"Your car. We were at a  _hotel,_ they have  _rooms…_ with  _beds…_ hell, they've got couches, carpets, a delightful array of  _comfortable_ things… _"_

"It's been a dream of mine to be taken in the backseat" Bond said, heavily sarcastic, rubbing against him to elicit a deep moan, "and do you honestly think I could check into a room without arousing  _some_  suspicion as to my intentions?" He propped himself up on his elbows above Amherst, kissing him roughly.

"True." He felt his pants being undone and pushed away, as Bond ran his thumb over the tip of the clothed arch in Amherst's boxers, bringing a dark blush to Amherst's face and a moan from his lips. His fingers worked at Bond's belt, dragging the pants away impatiently, continuing until their clothing was in a crumpled heap on the floor. Amherst arched his back away from the divider between the seats, consequently grinding against Bond; Amherst certainly didn't mind, and made his motions deliberate, and Bond arched down against him hard with a deep groan. Bond wasn't used to aggressiveness, certainly not used to having someone who seemed to know what to do to him, and seemed to be finding it quite to his taste. His need became obvious against Amherst's hips, kisses becoming more fervent.

"You certainly know what you're doing" Bond murmured in his ear, and before Amherst could truly comprehend what had happened, he felt a small tube and condoms being pressed into his hand, as Bond somehow pushed him up and maneuvered beneath him, all the while somehow never managing to break some kind of contact for more than a few seconds. Amherst recognized this as a bestowal of something akin to trust, or perhaps just that all-consuming lust, and proceeded. First, a hiss as the cold hit burning hot skin. And then, the impatient whine that met his fingers told him that pain wasn't something Bond was concerned with, so he sped through preparation, although all the while, Bond's vise grip on his wrist told him that 007 certainly hadn't expected so much pain. He added a third finger, to a gasp that gave him pause. "Why are you  _waiting?_ " Bond moaned, clearly holding himself back, tensed. "Are you trying to  _kill_ me?!" Amherst then pushed into the snug heat roughly, the action met with a gasping moan and a hiss of obscenity. " _Villiers…"_ The groan turned to a snarl when he didn't speed up, as he felt the body beneath his shiver with anticipation, the roiling hips and shaky breathing explaining explicitly to him the effect he was having on Bond, _"More."_  Amherst obliged willingly, driving mercilessly into the arched body. The unforgiving rhythm became harder and faster, to breathless moans and pained gasps of ecstasy. James shuddered when Amherst leaned forward, pushing himself in even further. He realized he'd brushed a certain spot when James cried out from that well-known mixture of pain and pleasure. " _Ohh…"_ The quiet, pleading tone wasn't wasted on Amherst. He kissed Bond's collarbone, feeling the grip on his wrist tighten even more from the unrelenting anticipation. He ran his fingers through Bond's sweaty blonde hair, kissing him hard, knowing Bond didn't want him to stop, and knowing that, even if Bond himself didn't, that the agent wouldn't be able to handle faster without screaming, something Amherst instinctively knew Bond didn't want to give in to. His other hand worked at Bond further down, just as unforgiving with his handling. James gave a near whimper, begging wordlessly to be finished off before he couldn't stand it. Amherst thrust harder, knowing full well the effect he was going for, without caring to warn Bond. James arched his back and cried out desperately, not quite a scream but close, coming hard.

From the look of shock on his face, Amherst could tell that James hadn't expected to lose his composure so quickly, nor so loudly. And, of course, it became set in Amherst's mind to teach James a little more, in the moments before his own mind became blurred with the same blinding pleasure. A sharp, sudden snap of his hips, aimed hard to that spot he'd memorized the location of and had been going gentle on before, and James came again, this time with a scream of a dizzying intensity he hadn't known 007 was capable of.

Despite the merciless deliverance and acceptance of pleasure, Amherst felt a strange surge of pride and satisfaction when he was the one to leave first, abandoning the thoroughly exhausted James and striding back across the carpark.

Bond hated his apartment. He was staring up at the dark ceiling, as unfamiliar to him as that of any hotel room, trying in vain to direct his attention away from the events of the evening. The fact that even the memory was so evoking startled him. Any encounter he'd ever had before had possessed an almost business-like tone to it, void of any real emotion or true response.

And 007 did  _not_ scream, nor did he allow anyone to bring him to his knees.

And yet… that night, he'd screamed himself hoarse, willingly vulnerable on his back, completely at the mercy of Villiers. Who, he'd discovered, had no mercy whatsoever. He couldn't resent him for that, no, never. But he certainly could become addicted to it, if he wasn't careful. He told himself- or attempted to, at least- that he couldn't keep going like this. With his previous encounters, he'd been completely capable of walking out as if nothing had happened, completely socially functional. After Villiers, he'd gone straight home and collapsed in bed, completely incapable of anything more strenuous. And yet… but, he reminded himself harshly, the dangers of becoming involved far outweighed the momentary- or perhaps just a bit longer than simply momentary- pleasures.

007 did not scream. Under no circumstances would he let the situation endure for much longer than absolutely necessary.

But James now knew that, yes, he would somehow be made to scream and be rendered completely defenseless by Villiers. The contradiction within himself was killing him.

*

Bond had arrived at the offices when he knew most people were leaving, still unsure whether the idea was even vaguely sane. He'd just returned from the last assignment, desperate for a distraction from how easy it had been to keep it from becoming his personal revenge. It had been unsettlingly effortless. Shoving that from his mind, he continued through the corridor. He felt a quick pang of alarm when he realized that Villiers had disappeared from sight, his office empty, but relaxed when he saw M come into the corridor from the office. Villiers must have just left, she usually dismissed him as she herself was leaving. Weaving his way back through the corridors, he headed Villiers off just down the steps outside.

"Wait" Bond caught up with Villiers, catching him by the elbow. Villiers turned, studied him with a puzzling intensity.

"Yes?"

"Want to go out for dinner?" he'd been planning this encounter since their last one nearly four days ago, and had hoped for a little more eloquence. He quickly saw that he was quite incapable of that now.

"Dinner? You're really asking me  _that?"_ The incredulous note of his tone made Bond almost recoil.

"That unpleasant an idea?" He ventured, refusing to sound anything but haughty when all he felt was disappointment. Almost too quickly, angry regret ran through him, furious that he'd wasted so much time lusting over him, even more angry when he realized that he had zero choice in the matter, downright wrathful when he remembered the experience itself, that had, outside his control, been the most he'd ever enjoyed it. Their first time had been experimental, he'd tried to hold back and, to his satisfaction, had succeeded. The second, however, had him begging for more. And now, Villiers was standing before him, at the point of refusing. But then Villiers laughed, amber-like eyes bright with amusement.

"Of course not. It's just that… I've never seen you actually  _eat_ anything." Bond arched an eyebrow that that. "I mean… you drink… you breathe… but… I've honestly never seen you eat anything…"

"I couldn't exist on just drinks." Bond informed him.

"If you'd told me you do, I'd have believed you."

"Aside from this non-fact, yes?"

A slow smile that Bond was grateful to see.

"Yes."

And afterwards, in a hotel room that had been booked previously because he'd known, they'd both know, what it would come to, he easily shattered Bond's cool composure within minutes. It was something he'd come to enjoy doing, although his guilty conscience had informed him that leaving directly afterwards was so outside his own style that it was simply impossible. He wouldn't be the first to leave this time. One taste of revenge had been enough; he enjoyed the taste of this love-like-lust better. Amherst had Bond against the wall, targeting his attention on the various sensitive spots he'd discovered, trailing his tongue down the small of Bond's back and then by his right ear, simultaneously pushing into him with little warning. And within five minutes of a fast pace and rougher movements, he'd worked his way past the untouchable façade that Bond so obsessively cultivated. James's scream told him that well enough.

*

M stopped Bond before left her office, unable to leave the subject alone. Perhaps it was better she didn't think of him as a son; his shocking apathy would appall her, painfully so. But even as it was, it pained her to see him acting in such a ruthless, emotionless manner.

"I swear to you, Bond, it'd be a cold bastard who doesn't want revenge" M said coolly, again, staring at her across her desk. "Why don't you?" Bond just shook his head slightly, indicating that now was not the time nor place to be asking, if there was ever to be that ideal situation at any point in time. He left the office.

"Something wrong?" Amherst ventured as Bond closed the door to M's office. Bond froze.

"Whatever gave you that notion?" he snapped, stalking out.

Bond was worried about his own apathy, because when he didn't want revenge for the death of the woman he'd loved, even he was concerned.

It didn't take but five days for Amherst to discover this unsettling fact.

*

James wound his way around the pillars and people in the villa, looking for Amherst. They were at a sponsor event. Bond was beginning to tire of these, as there had been an unusual number of them as of late. But Villiers was there. Although he disliked the fact that this was such a positive factor, he was currently indulging in that desire. He found Villiers on the second floor.

"Why do you always seek me out?" Amherst asked. Bond leveled with his gaze.

"Because you taste the best." Bond said matter-of-factly. Amherst couldn't tell if Bond was serious or not. He decided that Bond couldn't be, and plunged on.

"I won't be your rebound." The look in James's eyes sharpened, and Amherst was filled with a dark regret. Something in that look told him that, perhaps, Bond had indeed been serious.

"I'm not on the rebound" He said tersely, jaw clenched, hardly noticeably.

"You should be."

Amherst had hit Bond too hard for 007 to even form a reply, and when Amherst glanced away for a moment to locate M, Bond vanished.

Two days later, Amherst still hadn't seen Bond again, and it was his unusual quietness that alerted Jenny, the first person he saw every morning. She strode into his office halfway through the morning, during her break.

"How's it going with you and him?" Jenny asked. Amherst looked up. She gave him an innocent smile.

"How do you  _know_ these things?"

"Simple" She smiled wider. "I know everything."

"Unsettling."

"And also, I kind of figured it out when he wouldn't leave your office to read reports. So?"

"I think… I offended him. I mean, if that's… possible." Amherst said slowly, recalling the… the closest thing to pain he'd seen in Bond's eyes. 007 was all apathy, but Amherst knew he'd done something.

"Apologize."

"I don't know where he is."

"Then ask."

"Fine." She crossed her arms, waiting pointedly. Amherst sighed, leaned back in his chair so he could see through the open doorway.

"M, where is Bond currently?" he called over to the office.

"Rome. We're going to be meeting him at a theatre there."

"We?" Amherst mouthed. M returned to her work.

"Apologize" Jenny said, "see you later." She left him there, trying to mentally write the script of what he was going to say to Bond. Amherst turned towards the window, looking down on the street.  _How do you hurt someone who can't be hurt?_ It didn't seem possible. One way or the other, he was wrong in some assumption.

He had to be.

But he couldn't be.

 

 


	5. Only A Heart To Lose

Bond was roaming around on the highest platform above the theatre stage, where the set pieces were attached to the fly. Amherst took the stairs quietly, but Bond didn't even notice him.  _If he can't hear me straight away, he must be…_ Amherst didn't allow himself to finish the thought. He came up to the platform; a half glance sent his way told Amherst that Bond was well aware of his presence, although the agent didn't turn around. Bond was just watching the crowd below him, hands on the metal rail, completely ignoring him. Amherst drew in a breath, certain that this was how a tiger tamer must feel, wishing he had just a vague understanding of what the predator was thinking. Amherst circled around him, anxiety forcing him to keep his distance, lest a sharp word be sent his way, as if distance could protect him against that sort of pain. Still no response. The play continued on below, not yet at the intermission Bond was to wait for. Amherst finally walked up behind him and dipped his head to press his lips to James's neck. "Maybe I was wrong about you" he murmured. Bond still didn't turn.

"Perhaps." His tone was an icy, hateful thing. Amherst traced his fingertips down Bond's arm, skimming over the expensive jacket, hoping for some sort of response that would tell himself that all hope was not lost. Nothing.

"I'm sorry." Again, Bond was not impressed. His hands remained motionless on the metal bar surrounding the platform, as he refused to even look at Amherst. This was offending and yet, Amherst could accept it, was even grateful for so much of a response. It proved that the double-O had feelings, although they ran on the ultimatum side insofar, and even then, only veering towards the less pleasant emotions. "Forgive me?" he breathed.

James couldn't remember the last time anyone had cared to even attempt to attain his forgiveness. It had been a long time. He couldn't bring himself to verbally bestow it, though. It had been far too long. Amherst trailed his fingers down James's back, delighting in the small shiver this caused.

"You're trying to resist me" he whispered, amused to no end. James shook his head, as if in amusement.

"Why would I?" James finally turned to him, kissing him hard. An upward grind of hips reminded Amherst just who was in charge, at it certainly wasn't himself. At least, not until he had Bond on his back, and made him absolutely scream. The power was something Amherst rather enjoyed. A moan escaped his lips, making Bond kiss harder. "I don't have to, Villiers."

"And despite this, you can't even acknowledge that I have a first name."

"Fine." James said grudgingly. "I'll call you by your first name. And I guess that means I owe you one piece of information. So we're even."

"I get to ask one question?" First name basis didn't seem that intimate to Amherst, but to someone like Bond, he supposed, it must be. And to Bond, Amherst supposed, the collateral of the highest value was information.

"Why aren't you seeking revenge? Can you at least tell me that?" A brief silence spun of reluctance.

"I never loved her."

"Oh." Amherst didn't question him further, and James kissed him again.  _Why the hell not,_ James's mind whispered,  _what have I got left to lose?_ Something he'd forgotten about, it would turn out.

"It wasn't revenge, it was more of… a distraction." Unfathomable as usual, Amherst noted.

"What in the world have you got to be distracted from?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. Bond shrugged a shoulder, refusing to think more on it. He distracted himself with brief musings at the hovering difference in accents to Amherst's voice, evident in his longer sentences. Amherst's inquiring look pushed his thoughts back to an uncomfortably honest track.

"Oh… you, for instance." Direct honesty wasn't something Bond usually employed, so Amherst didn't even consider that 007 had been telling the truth.

*

And yet, Amherst knew it couldn't last. It had been maybe a month of this, certainly not forever. Amherst tried to keep from becoming too involved, which he was currently practicing, watching his cell phone ring and refusing to answer. He knew who it was, of course. The number had been there since he'd gotten the job, although it had never been used before. He pushed it further away on the kitchen countertop, until it stopped ringing.

Bond, meanwhile, was waiting around in the Paris airport, glowering down at his phone when Amherst wouldn't answer. For the eighth time. And he knew for a fact that it wasn't just because Amherst couldn't hear it ring.  _He's ignoring me,_ James thought bitterly,  _on purpose._ He'd been doing so frequently lately, more so in the past two weeks since Bond had been gone. Bond had made it a habit to call him as soon as he arrived in London and lately, he'd only gotten through about half the times. A smirk appeared on his face as he found a payphone and dialed again.

"Hello?"

"Why wouldn't you answer your phone?" James demanded. An audible sigh from Amherst.

"I didn't want to."

"And why not?"

"What do you care?"

"Argument of the immature." James shot back, leaning against the side of the payphone structure.

"No, honestly. What do you  _care_ what I do during intervals?" A not-so discreet reference to the fact that whenever Bond saw him, he slept with him.

"I just…" he fell silent. Amherst let him. "I was thinking about you, that's all."

"Really." Blatant disbelief. Bond turned back towards the terminal, where he could see the small restaurant. It had a few tables tucked away beside a window. The surprisingly cozy atmosphere had made him think of Amherst.

"Yes. There's a restaurant here, and…" he drew in a breath. "just made me think about you," he trailed off, not elaborating on the memories it had brought to mind. The boarding call for his plane interrupted whatever conversation they may have had.

*

Bond was staring out the car window, sitting in a corner of the backseat. It had been a week since he'd called from the airport, and, disappointingly, the other man had yet to leave his thoughts, anyways. He had his laptop open, searching through the M16 employee files. He knew he only had about ten minutes before the system shut him out, but after four minutes of searching, he finally found what he was looking for- Amherst's file.

There was nothing truly remarkable. He'd been a secretary for another division previously, loaned to M, and she'd insisted on keeping him as such. Bond found this slightly uninteresting, and skimmed further on. Amherst wasn't actually born-and-raised British, he'd spent the first twenty-something years of his life in California, where he'd been born, which was why his accent wasn't exactly like Bond's; Bond made a mental note to listen more closely to him. More interesting, but still not what Bond was looking for. His eye color was listed as brown. A lie, as far as Bond was concerned. Amherst was currently single, which made Bond marvel at the detail of the records, and then shudder to think of what his own file read, perhaps something along the lines of  _irrevocably single_. And then, the true gem of information he'd been seeking. Amherst had only ever dated men, which could only mean that, much as Bond resented the fact that he wanted to know, there was a chance at something more than what they had. Bond shut his computer and reached for his phone, although admitting the hazy desire for something of true substance wasn't something he planned on doing.

Bond dialed again, again, and again, and Amherst finally picked up, after the fifteenth try.

"Hel _lo?"_ he managed to snap the word into two syllables- one irritated, and one flat-out angry.

"Why do you hate it when I call you?" Bond asked. He knew he sounded plaintive, bordering on just pathetic, but he couldn't help it. Initially, he'd been offended. Then he'd realized that Amherst had to have a reason, and he was just hurt.

"I don't." The lie was obvious, but the fact that it had been offered it was something of a consolation to Bond, even as he refused to believe he needed any sort of comforting.

"Of course. You only ignored me fifteen times. That is by no means a sign of abhorrence."

"I just…" Amherst sighed, fell silent for a few moments. "I don't know. I don't want any of this halfway business, I guess."

"Ah." Bond retreated into silence. It made sense, of course. It made perfect sense. Either Bond stayed the hell away, it came down to, or he committed for good. No phone calls during intervals of undefined length, and especially not when there wasn't any promise of a return, no beyond-friendship privileges if he couldn't stay, none of it. "Could I ask you for a favor, in that case?"

"I suppose."

"Until… until it's decided what we're to be, could I just… keep calling you? Honestly, I just… I get to thinking about you, and…"

"Sure." Amherst said softly. "Until it's decided."

*

He next saw Amherst at the opera hall. Bond was to be following up a lead after the show was over, but until then, he had free reign; that freedom was somewhat limited, however, by the fact that M was there. The flip side of this, however, was that Amherst had to be accompanying her.

James wasn't prepared to see that Amherst had a date, however.

The girl on his arm was a pretty, young thing, in a sleek blue dress that, James was infuriated to note, was the same hue as that of Amherst's tie. Perhaps the most fatal factor of this kiss of death, however, was the fact that she was blonde and blue-eyed, which Bond took as a moral insult. And all things unconsidered, Bond thought darkly as he wove around the crowd in the grand hall, was that she was a  _girl,_ which was a true blow to his pride. A part of his mind that was fairly difficult to ignore whispered that perhaps Amherst had been lying to him, or perhaps he'd given up on Bond so thoroughly, he'd turned to her instead. Perhaps that file he'd finally gotten a glimpse at had been wrong. Perhaps he himself had been so disappointing a… a… whatever he was- he wouldn't grace himself with the identification of  _lover,_ he felt incapable of being something so intimate and so pure- that Amherst had given up on the entire male population. Perhaps that was it. As he watched, she rose up to whisper in Amherst's ear, something that made him smile. Bond seethed.

"Evening, Bond" M's voice made him turn abruptly.

"Evening." He paused to consider, "brought your aid with you, I see."

"Of course. I do depend on him so." She replied.  _I do too,_ Bond thought bitterly and rather against his will,  _but I don't get to have him._

"Allowed him to bring a date?"

"But of course." She smiled serenely. Bond remained silent.  _But he's mine,_ his mind screamed,  _not hers. Mine._

At the intermission, Bond sought out Amherst, cornering him in the hallway that led to the restaurant. "Hello." Amherst met his gaze questioningly.

"Who's the girl you're with?" Bond demanded. Amherst smiled slightly, maddening to Bond.

"Why?" Even if he didn't say it, his tone finished his thought up for him:  _jealous, Bond?_

"No reason."

 

 


	6. Evidence

It always depressed Amherst when he found Bond gone by morning, every time a little bit worse. He didn't know why Bond had left, or why he ever did, and didn't particularly care to hear the excuse. At least, that was what he would have said, had he been offered one.

When he opened the door to his office, though, he was presented with a rather unusual sight. James was at his desk- not on a plane headed far away, not in some foreign hotel room, not sneaking about underground, but  _at his desk_. Sleeping at his desk, to be exact. Amherst just stood in the doorway and stared at him for a few seconds. James hadn't heard him come in, head on his arms atop the desk.

"Bond. Wake up." Amherst said, going up to his desk. Bond didn't even stir.

"Villiers, could you schedule an appointment for Mrs. Bridget Mayers?" M called out from behind her office's closed door. "Thank you." Amherst looked from his computer, to the occupied computer chair.

"Come  _on,_ Bond. I need my desk" He nudged Bond gently in the side, then less gently. "Bond." A soft moan of protest. Amherst cast a glance at the closed door to M's office. "Wake up, James." He ran his fingers through the blonde hair, dropping a kiss to the back of James's neck. "You leave to come and sleep  _here?"_ he asked, irritation returning when he saw that Bond was awake.

"M called me in at two this morning." Bond informed him, in a tone halfway between sleepy and sulky, "and I'm tired."

"Really? Couldn't tell. Get up, I need my desk." James clearly sulked at the abrupt change in tone, leaving the desk and stalking over to the other half of the office to resume his prowling from before.

"You're angry with me." James stated simply. Amherst refused to look at him.

"Maybe I wouldn't be if you'd just-" but his sentence fell to the silence of hesitance, and he reaffixed his attention to the computer. Bond crossed his arms over his chest, watching Amherst.

"I'm here now."

"I hardly recognize you. I don't think I've ever seen you in the morning before." Amherst near snarled. Bond's stare turned to more of a glare.

"Maybe you should take a photo, it will serve as evidence" he snapped, and while Amherst's tone had been a near-growl, his was entirely feral. Then he sighed, look softening. "Don't listen to me. I'm unbearable in the morning." His comment, intended as something akin to apology, struck the wrong note. Amherst refused to look at him,

"I wouldn't know."

*

Nearly a week later, Amherst was still nearly at the point of sulking about Bond's irrevocable habit of disappearing before sunrise.

"You're out of sorts today." The offhand comment found more truth than Jenny had intended it to, tossed towards Amherst as he passed by her desk on his way to M's office. "Something the matter?"

"No, nothing." Jenny accepted this and returned to her conversation with Susanna, another secretary who was standing at the desk.

"I honestly think that if he loved you, he'd stay until morning." The remark hadn't even been directed towards Amherst, and yet it pinpointed his anxiety. He sulked off to his desk, unwilling to hear any more.

Amherst wanted nothing more than to get over Bond, for fear of being hurt. It wasn't love, he could say that with confidence in reference to Bond's emotions, so why would Bond feel the need to stay a minute longer than necessary? No reason at all, Amherst decided regretfully, no reason at all.

*

Amherst stirred back awake an hour later after falling asleep, found the room empty. No doubt Bond had left again. He'd shown up, few words were exchanged, and now he was gone. Amherst almost wished he hadn't been given that spark of hope. He curled up again, winced from a particularly painful bruise, and drifted back into an uneasy sleep through which danced tantalizing whispers of love that would never be heard in his own life at the moment.  _I won't tell him I love him,_ he decided in his last conscious moments, before sleep took him,  _I don't want him to know._

Watching Amherst sleep was something Bond had never taken the time to partake in. He'd made a habit of leaving directly afterwards, always on to other things, sometimes other people. And perhaps it was a sense of embarrassment, nearly an abashed shame that drove him away, as his own screams echoed in his mind, and his body trembled at the memory of Villiers's touch. Tonight, though, something akin to what he would only admit was guilt had kept him. Amherst slept like he needed someone else, reaching out to cling to something, leaving him curled up on a corner of the mattress, holding nothing.  _Just a few hours,_ Bond thought, carefully putting an arm around Amherst and shifting close next to him,  _because any longer would be…_ a commitment, but his thoughts refused to put that together.

Amherst stirred awake, blearily looking to his alarm clock. Seven. Before he could panic about oversleeping, the realization that it was Saturday penetrated his sleep-addled thoughts. He burrowed back under the heavy comforter, the one thing that made wintertime something to look forward to. Amherst rarely informed people, but he was more Californian than he cared to admit. He looked more European or English than he did Californian, but he'd lived in a small town less than an hour off San Francisco for nearly twenty years, and he still couldn't accustom himself to the significantly colder weather in England. He preferred it, but he was still left shivering.

But currently, he felt comfortingly warm. But he couldn't remember the heaven-sent down comforter ever achieving such a temperature. Even with it, he was usually fighting off something like freezing in the morning. And then he realized something that he wouldn't have believed true should it even have been apparent before him, as it was now. James slept beside him, one arm thrown across Amherst, deeply asleep. He'd never stayed before. Amherst smiled when he realized Bond was the source of the heat, his bare chest against Amherst's back surprisingly warm. Anyone else, it would have been considered a near feverish temperature. Amherst felt a small surge of pleasure at the sight of the imprints that marked Bond's body, all of which would surely bruise, and the bites he'd left at will. He'd only ever seen the effects on himself, knowing that Bond was just as obvious an evidence of it was reassuring.

Amherst would have liked to believe that James had stayed simply because he'd wanted to, not for other, more practical reasons, such as his lack of anywhere else to stay. The distant ring of the phone brought him out of his increasingly depressing thoughts, and he pulled himself away to answer it. It turned out to be the woman in the apartment above his, one of the only friendly tenants even if her children had a habit of pressing all the elevator buttons when she wasn't looking, asking if he could possibly look after the houseplants for her, as it had completely slipped her mind and their plane left later that morning. He replied that of course he could, sorted out the details, and hung up. As he left the kitchen, he wondered if Bond hadn't left yet, something he wouldn't put past the agent. He'd done so before, after all.

But no. He was still curled up in Amherst's bed.

Amherst didn't join him quite yet, staying at the doorway instead, since he doubted it was a sight he'd ever see again.  _Maybe you should take a photo,_ whispered that voice in his mind,  _it will serve as evidence._ Evidence of an existence, of which there was currently was none. Amherst turned away from the bedroom.

He worked until eight, having decided that if Bond intended to leave, he'd rather not talk to him. But he hadn't heard anything from the direction of the bedroom. The realization wasn't exactly helpful, as it would have been more unusual if he had indeed heard something, given the agent's skills. Curiosity propelled him to the hallway, compelled to check what he knew wouldn't be there. Amherst pressed his fingertips to the door, steeled himself for letdown, and opened the door. James was still there. Amherst was tempted to see if hell had frozen over. He closed the door behind him, and the sound made Bond wake. An unhappy sort of moan followed. Amherst wasn't aware, but James had discovered that he was alone in the bed. Something like a whimper was so pitiful that Amherst went over to the bed, leaning over and kissing the back of James's neck.

"Where'd you go?" James mumbled, turning intensely questioning eyes to him.

"Just to work on some stuff. Why?"

"No reason…" the ringing phone saved him from having to elaborate. Amherst went to answer it. Bond watched him leave the room, a strange sort of desolation preventing him from moving. Bond had, countless times, slept with someone and then left directly afterwards. There was never any guilt, because the idea that they would be waking up to find him gone had never occurred to him. Waking up alone had never seemed any great sort of tragedy to him. But he'd never gone to sleep beside someone else, and then woken to find them gone. Never. Never felt that near panic that was strangely alike drowning, never reached out and found only emptiness where he'd been sure he'd find that someone, never, never.

It wasn't something he wanted to experience again.

Bond looked over when Amherst returned, sitting on the side of the bed. "You're still here."

"You act like I'm constantly leaving."

"You…" He  _was_ constantly leaving, but Amherst fell silent, seeing the fleeting look that warned him that this was not an approachable subject. He instead moved closer, and trailed his hand across James's shoulder, resting on his neck. His amused smile made Bond give him a perplexed look. "I didn't know you were always so warm."

"Warm?" Bond cocked an eyebrow.

"Do me a favor?" Bond didn't reply to this. "Come on. Indulge me a little." Amherst leaned down, kissed James swiftly, then grabbed him by the wrists and dragged him out of bed.

*

"Is there a reason we're out here?" James had his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, looking out at the rain.

"Yes." They could barely see the bridge, from the fog that was swarming through the sky. "Cold?" He received a murderous look as a response. Amherst just smiled and turned his gaze from the sulky Bond back to the river. "Good."

"Either you've turned into an unbearable sadist or I've done something to deserve this."

"You'll see." Amherst gave him a suspicious smile. Bond leaned back against the stone of the wall, the sound of pouring rain filling the silence that followed. "Exactly how cold are you?"

"Fucking freezing, Amherst."

"Perfect." This earned him a bewildered look from Bond. Amherst stood before him, slowly undoing his jacket.

"I suppose it'd be pointless to ask your intent?" There was something of a smile in his tone.

"Quite." Amherst slipped one hand under Bond's jacket, and Bond flinched when icy fingers touched his skin. "You  _are_ still warm."

"Is that what this was about?" A small, amused smile appeared on his face, and the wavering confusion in his eyes told Amherst that Bond wasn't used to things like this.

"Mm-hmm. You'll be useful in the winter." Bond snorted at that, but didn't push him away. Amherst put his arms around him beneath Bond's jacket, certain there wasn't anyone else so warm. He felt fingertips against his chest.

"You're freezing."

"Most people are in this weather."

"Think you'd be used to it by now" Bond said casually, "although I suppose it's warmer in California?"

"How do you know about that?" Amherst asked cautiously. Bond grinned. "You looked at my file. "

"Yes. Why don't you tell people?"

"Why should I?" This wasn't a satisfactory answer, he saw, and sighed before elaborating, "I came here for college. Faked an accent so people would quit mocking me, and I guess… I got wary of bias. This is easier." He shrugged a shoulder. "I don't particularly care one way or the other, but whatever."

"I won't tell anyone." Bond kissed his neck, "I promise."

They ended up in a café, one that was moderately crowded, enough so that they were in the corner by the bay window, Bond seated on the window seat across the table from Amherst. The entire set up felt too much like something akin to settled sentiment to leave either unaffected.

"We could do this every day" Amherst said softly, voice almost swallowed up by the din of the people around. Bond caught onto every word, holding his gaze. "It's kind of…"  _a commitment,_ Bond's mind whispered back,  _everyday life._ He didn't say anything, looking away. "You don't want that?"

"I…" He couldn't force himself to admit it.  _No, no, no, I don't want it if it can be taken away so easily._ "It's different" he finally said. At the sight of the crushed look this earned, he was quick to elaborate, "not unpleasantly. Just… different."

"I see." Amherst murmured. "Different."

_*_

Amherst's first thought the following morning was that it truly had been too good to have lasted long. Bond was no longer anywhere near him. Amherst sighed, pulling the blankets back up and wishing he was. Then he heard something, and a slight smile touched at his lips.

" _Damn_ you. I don't need you  _anyways."_ The words, of course, were slightly alarming, and he wondered if Bond was talking to someone, on the phone, in person, and the ideas left him bewilderingly confused. And then there was a clatter of metal against tile, and a growl followed it. "I  _hate_ you." Bond continued to snarl from the direction of the kitchen, his anger murderous, "It's not  _my_ fault… stupid dysfunctional… thing. Whatever the hell it is." It didn't sound like he was talking to a person. Amherst's curiosity drew him to the kitchen, where Bond was standing before the toaster oven, arms crossed over his chest, a look that could kill on his face, currently damning the toaster oven to the deepest reaches of hell.

"Who exactly are you talking to?" Amherst questioned. Bond looked back at him over his shoulder, and almost smiled, something Amherst had yet to see for real.

"Your goddamn toaster thing."

"Did you ruin it?"

"No." This sounded amusingly almost sulky. The look on Bond's face cinched it. He was sulking. "It was dysfunctional before I even touched it." Amherst laughed, looping his arms around Bond and kissing his neck.

"I'm sure."  _I love you_ almost tumbled from his lips, but he didn't want to break their moment, and stayed silent. So he merely moved his touch downward, to distract them both. Bond responded to him almost immediately, a shiver running through him.

"Trying to make me scream?" He muttered, turning his face into Amherst's neck. Amherst laughed.

"I can do that without trying." Bond groaned at that.

"I  _know."_ Bond shook his head, as it ashamed of it, but the slightest smile touched his lips. "Anyways, I was thinking, to make it fair, want to see my apartment?"

"Sure" Amherst said.  _Fair?_ He thought with amusement,  _he's so…_ the word 'serious' came to mind, but he dismissed it.

Bond's driving was always above the speed limit, and the Aston Martin purred in encouragement, something Amherst thought was a rather dangerous feature of the car. "Here we are" Bond announced a few minutes later, pulling into a parking space. "Come on."

A few minutes later, he unlocked the front door and ushered Amherst in.

"Wow." Amherst stood in the doorway, looking at the immaculate apartment before him. Bond dropped his keys onto the table by the wall, silent. They'd dropped by Bond's apartment in the evening, somewhere Amherst had never seen before. "It's very…" Bond cut him off, shaking his head with something sadly akin to disdain.

"I don't spend much time here."

"I… I can see that." It was strikingly impersonal, absolutely nothing of sentimental value in sight, likely even in existence. "At least… it's your furniture." But Bond slashed down his optimistic spin as well.

"I bought it already furnished." Bond scooped up his keys again from the table where they'd rested for a mere forty seconds. "Can we go somewhere else now?"

"Sure" Amherst shot him a smile to lighten him up, "ninety-five-point-four."

"I honestly shouldn't have let you figure out my temperature."

"Yes" Amherst agreed enthusiastically, "Clearly a mistake on your part." Again, it almost escaped his lips, the temptation to murmur  _I love you_ so strong, and yet, the wandering of James's focus told him to do otherwise. Amherst cast a last glance around the apartment, in a regretful sort of marvel at how, even in his own home, Bond left no trace of his existance, no evidence he'd ever been there at all. "Let's go."

 

 


	7. Promise

Two months had gone by since their first real encounter, and Amherst was struck by the irony in such an amount of time. He'd never been able to pride himself on maintaining a relationship for long, true, but keeping  _this,_ whatever the hell it was, going on for so long seemed both miraculous and threatening. Amherst wasn't in the mood to get his heart broken, he doubted he ever would be, or that Bond had even considered the idea at all.

Bond had inquired the reason behind Amherst's surly attitude that afternoon, and had followed him home, demanding an explanation.

"What?" Bond persisted, as they neared the apartment building. "What do you want from me, exactly? Because much as I enjoy following you around-"

"In all fairness, I told you to leave about five blocks back." Amherst pointed out, turning to face him. Bond scowled.

"I'm following you until you tell me why you haven't spoken to me in a week."

"Oh, you noticed? I was under the impression that another month could go by before you noticed that." Amherst snapped back. The ice-blue eyes didn't move from his face, despite the sharpness to the remark. Bond didn't refute it, though; he'd noticed mainly because when he'd asked Amherst to go out for a drink again, he'd been snubbed.

"What do you take me for, anyways?" This, Bond realized a heartbeat later, was an unwise question, and he rushed on before Amherst could take it upon himself to answer, "What do you expect of me?"

Amherst sighed.

"I want a promise from you. That's it." He hated how it sounded so meaningless, when spoken to Bond, the embodiment of the unachievable.

"You want to be serious." Bond wasn't moving, but still Amherst felt like he was being circled, scrutinized, studied for understanding. "I don't want you to get involved, not with a double-O." The firmness to his voice was so absolute that Amherst wondered when exactly Bond had made this decision- and when he'd planned on informing Amherst of it.

"Why not?"

"You'll get hurt." Again, that unwavering stare. James had a way of being direct.

"Can you promise me anything?"

"No." Painfully direct.

"So if we can't be serious…" Amherst opened the door to the apartment building, turning his back on Bond, "I don't want to be anything at all." The door swung shut behind him.

Amherst had left.

In every time he'd thought this over, Bond had never thought Amherst would leave. Of the possible outcomes he'd imagined and fretted over, being left wasn't one of them. He wandered back to his apartment, which felt less like home than anywhere else he'd been.  _I didn't need him before._ Bond dropped his keys on the table, turned away quickly as if he could hide from the memory of when he'd first brought Amherst over,  _I don't need him now._ But Amherst had somehow worked his way into everything, so that nothing was detached from his memory. This wasn't like losing Vesper, Bond realized numbly, still standing in the entry, because that hadn't mattered. She was just another woman to him. This wasn't like that, because this wouldn't leave him alone, because Amherst… he mattered, and he  _meant_ something. Bond wandered towards the bedroom he had a hard time calling his own for lack of time spent there, and in his mind he was regretfully, guiltily, cursing Amherst for somehow managing to make everything mean something else. Nothing was left untouched. Pulling off his shirt, Bond found yet another way he'd find it impossible to forget, because his own strangely warm temperature was something he could never get rid of.

James soon discovered that after becoming almost accustomed to falling asleep next to someone else, it was near impossible to be alone in the dark and do anything but cry.

Of all the few things Amherst knew about him, the fact that James was a rare, pretty crier wasn't one of them.

*

Amherst supposed it could have been worse. He'd been bracing himself for the break-apart. Calling it a break-up would have meant they'd been in something like a relationship, and, really, they weren't. And he knew he would have been better off if he hadn't been made to  _talk_ about it. But as he entered his apartment, the phone was already ringing. Picking it up from the hall table, he tried to ignore what memories the living room presented him with.

"Hello?"

"Hey, you. How's sub-zero England?" His sister's voice was as cheery as always. Probably because it was sunny in California, he thought, she was a summer girl. And it was eternally summer there.

"Freezing. Must you sound so happy, Christie?"

"It's a habit for me. Why do you sound so depressed?" Amherst scowled at that.

"I'm not."

"You're as depressed as I am cheery, okay? What?" Within ten minutes, she'd forced the entire story out of him. Interrogation was a talent of hers, one he didn't particularly like. "so now it's over?" Christie asked once he'd finished, "thanks for keeping me updated," she added sarcastically.

"Sorry." He was wandering through the apartment in a subconscious effort to escape the memories seemingly  _everything_ evoked.

"So what're you going to do now?"

"Now? Um... not think about him. That's a good place to start." The kitchen was no good, he realized, because of how Bond had cursed at his appliances.

"Sure it is." Christie said.

"Wonder what he's doing right now." Amherst said absently. The bedroom was even worse.

"So much for you not thinking about him."

"Bet he's with someone else." The bitterness in his voice was impossible to ignore.

"No, I'll bet he's missing you." The honesty in his sister's voice was too much.

"You're insane." Amherst mumbled. "It's not like that."

He eventually gave up on escaping, sitting on the side of the bed and surrendering to the memories.

*

M had thought that perhaps it was a bad time to send Bond back to Scotland in pursuit of their revived lead. She'd wondered at that when she'd phoned him, hearing the venomous snap to his words, the strict flatness to his tone. Yes, she'd wondered, but she'd assumed he could keep his personal issues separate from his job.

Miles away in Scotland, Bond was struggling to do as M expected him to. He'd followed the lead, ignored the fatigue wearing him down emotionally, and cornered the man he'd been sent to find, late at night in an empty office.

"I see Bond always gets the girl" the man sneered, not unnerved, despite the fact that standing before his desk was Bond, gun in hand. "You had Vesper, despite all her plans for betrayal. It's sickening, really."

"You don't know the first thing about me" Bond snarled, levelling the gun, "Tell me about your organization, not myself as you perceive me."

"So you do get the girls? I thought as much. You always do." A derisive laugh. Bond clenched his teeth and said nothing. "Vesper told us all about you."

"Are you going to tell me anything useful?" He asked, voice tense, forcing his hand not to tremble. The man smirked.

"No."

Bond shot.

The man's body crumpled, but his words still echoed.

_Bond always gets the girl._

Bond fired again and then, overwhelmed by disgust in himself, turned away.  _"Bond always gets the girl."Fucking prats. I always get the girl, but apparently, I can't get the man._

A few hours later at M16, the news had reached M, as well as the details of the man's death. The news disappointed her. The details displeased her.

"Not again. Are you serious?" M shot at Amherst, glaring from her office door. Amherst almost shrank back from her livid glare.

"Yes. Two shots. About an inch apart." He managed to report once again, off of the report he'd been delivered. "All other deaths during the mission were the same" he added helplessly.

"I  _knew_ I shouldn't send out such a emotional wreck of an agent" M muttered as she turned, "shooting twice. What a waste of bullets. Does he think we're made of silver?" Amherst had all-but forgotten that the double-shot was a telltale sign of upset. The issue was rarely encountered, M had told him; the last time, Bond had been upset- although that was an exaggeration, he'd been more off-kilter than devastated or wrecked- had been after his mother's death, and before that, his father's. And other than that, nothing. "What the devil could be the matter with him?" M muttered under her breath, turning towards the window, "he doesn't have anyone left to care about. He said so himself, last time..."

Amherst remained silent.

 

 


	8. His Only Saviour

Bond was sitting in the interrogation room, ignoring the man that was circling around the table. The police station was a small, concrete building, cold inside. The interrogator continued to pace around the table in the centre of the room.

"You were in a restricted area. You had an incredibly amount of weaponry on your personas well as in your vehicle. A policeman's body was in the alleyway you'd just left. And you claim you had no intentions against our government. Can't you see why this is difficult to believe?" Bond just smirked at that.

"It would be in your best interest to let me go. Trust me." He'd have left hours ago, if not for the fact that he was handcuffed.

"No. You have no identification, passport, drivers license, or otherwise." Bond looked up at him.

"We already sent out for that. Are you this impatient?" He smiled slyly. The man crossed his arms over his chest and glared. Bond sighed, leaning back in his seat. He'd been off his game, that was why the local police had dragged him in. No identification, an alarming amount of weapons, and he was being interrogated. He blamed Amherst, at least indirectly. Usually, Bond found it fairly effortless to work under the local police station's radar; he operated well under said radar. Unless, of course, he was as distracted as he was now.

Meanwhile, a cop was on the phone to the office, whose number Bond had given them with the utmost reluctance. "Will you come and give verification that he's authorized?" the cop asked the woman on the phone.

"Who is it?"

"He wouldn't give his name. Said he didn't have identification, anyways." A sigh followed this.

"Is he blonde? And… just a moment" he heard the woman put her hand partially over the receiver, and call out, "Villiers, how would you describe Bond?" the answer came, and with a definite snicker to her tone, she repeated it, "And is he cocky, infuriating, and impossible to get information out of?"

"Sounds just like him."

"I'll have someone on the next flight over." The call was disconnected. The cop reported this to the interrogator, who sighed and opened the door to the interrogation room.

"Looks like you're going to be in here for a while." He called out to Bond. Bond shrugged a shoulder.

"Fine by me."

A few hours passed, filled with conversations that infuriated the interrogator with their lack of information.

"Monsieur Derton" A cop opened the door and poked his head into the room. "The representative is here."

"Representative?" Bond asked, too much of a mocking note in his tone to miss arousing suspicion. Derton narrowed his eyes at Bond.

"Don't move." He looked back to the cop, "And?"

"The rep wants to talk to him." Derton shrugged at this and left the room. Bond sighed, waiting to see who was to lecture him. Amherst walked into the room. James hung his head, biting his lip. _Anyone but him. I could have dealt with_ _anyone_ _else,_ he thought, almost angrily, _and M damn well knows that._

"Didn't expect to see you here." He finally spoke. Amherst came over, one hand on the tabletop, watching Bond intently. Bond could tell Amherst resented being sent over to retrieve him, he looked both tired and thoroughly irritated.

"Someone had to come bail you out of jail. Seems your lack of cooperation has gotten you into trouble yet again." His tone was as steeled as that of the interrogator.

"I-"

"Or maybe it was your inability to give them any of the information about you that they wanted." Bond glanced up at Amherst momentarily. The aid appeared unaffected, but underlying his tone was a constant foundation of anger and pain.

"They didn't ask nicely."

"They shouldn't have had to ask." Amherst's steeled gaze didn't lift.

"They didn't deserve that information."

"Maybe not" Amherst was glaring at him. "But I'm sure it would have helped your cause a great deal if you'd told them anything at all."

In the other room, the cop and interrogator were watching the exchange with confusion. The double talk was lost on them, making it that much more perplexing. "You interrogate him, and he says nothing" the cop said, frowning. "And this man's beaten him into submission in a matter of seconds."

" _Shhh_."

Meanwhile, Amherst was still staring down James. "Couldn't you have just cooperated in the first place, so we didn't have to go through this whole ordeal?" He sighed heavily, turning away. Bond got up, with only a little trouble due to the fact that his hands were handcuffed before him.

"I'm sorry." James said it with too much of a heartfelt desperation for it to have been directed towards the present situation. Amherst didn't look at him. "I've… I've missed you. That's what's gotten me into this mess. I can't think about anything but you…" he drew in an unstable breath. "I'd say I want you back, but I suppose I never had you in the first place, did I?" Bond lifted his head, watching Amherst. "I want to be serious. I'm willing to risk it. And I don't want anyone else." Amherst smiled.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

"Sounds like you weren't expecting me to." Bond ventured a guess. Amherst shrugged a shoulder.

"I had faith in you. Most days."

Bond went over, putting his arms around Amherst's neck and kissing him deeply.

"Only you would." He purred, kissing the aid again, the chain of his handcuffs cool on the back of Amherst's neck. "You're by far my favourite saviour"

"You've had others?" Amherst inquired, amused. Bond shook his head.

"No. But if I did, I swear you'd be the best out of all of them."

Before leaving for England again, Bond made Amherst stop at a restaurant, explaining only that the lead was meant to be there and that he really only needed a minute to talk to the lead. Amherst hesitated due to M's threat to have Bond home on the soonest possible plane back, and eventually relented.

"Great. Come on." Bond opened the car door, walking over to the sidewalk. Amherst followed slowly.

"Why?"

"You're helping." Bond had already set off for the restaurant. Amherst trailed along behind, reluctance written on his face.

"I'm not supposed to get involved..." Bond barely heard him, opening the door for him and then following. "Training rules..."

"I trust you." James said, with a small smile, "And I need you to seat him in a corner of the restaurant so I can talk to him. Please?" Amherst sighed.

"Fine." He sidled behind the front counter. And as he walked back from leading the man to the proper table, Bond slid by him, and with the grace of a pickpocket, had slipped a folded paper in his pocket and then disappeared from sight.

_Meet me after this is over. I want to treat the most handsome waiter here to dinner._

*

M lectured at Bond for the better part of an hour, although it was clear that most of it went right over his head. The only thing he retained from the entire lecture was that she was in no mood to be annoyed, so he slipped out as soon as possible.

"Hello." Bond closed the door to M's office behind him. Amherst looked up from the computer, which he was shutting down, and gave Bond an amused look.

"You need a ride to your apartment, I presume?"

"I don't really want to ask for a car." Bond admitted, the extent of his confessions as to what had occurred in the office. "Besides, I'm leaving for Scotland in a day, I hardly need it." Amherst collected his things and led Bond to the car park, for the most part in shared silence.

"Why'd you drive today?" Bond asked as Amherst unlocked the car.

"Had to bring a box of empty files and didn't want to carry it."

"Ah." Bond opened the passenger side door and got in, trying to organize his thoughts and failing. The thought of his own apartment was far less than appealing, but try as he might, he couldn't, not without hearing M's words in his mind, relentlessly echoing.

"So?" Amherst was saying, as he closed his own door. Bond looked over.

"Sorry, what?"

"Stay with me tonight. Your apartment depresses even me."

"Hell, I'm never going back there alone." Bond agreed instantly. Amherst arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. Bond noticed this only after a short while, as Amherst searched for the car keys. "What?"

"Nothing." Amherst had found the keys and turned the car on, pulling out of the car park.

"What were you thinking?"

"I just… nothing. It was nothing."

"Liar." A small smile.

"I was just… after I left, my sister called me, and we were talking about… what you were probably doing, right then."

"And?" Bond pressed. Amherst avoided the blue eyes, taking a keen interest in the road instead.

"It doesn't matter."

"Sure it doesn't." Bond watched him, and the reluctance told him exactly what Amherst had thought. "You thought I was with someone else." There was something else beside the scoff in his voice that made Amherst wonder. "No."

"Ah." He said nothing more, aware that Bond knew the question hovering there. The fact that he wasn't answering said a lot. "So, if not, then you were…?" he prompted. There was a prolonged silence that Bond dragged out as long as possible.

"Crying and not sleeping."

"You act as if-" _you love me, and you're ashamed of crying about it,_ Amherst wouldn't voice half the sentence the sentence, "you're ashamed of it."

"Forgive me for being myself, but I'm not used to it." James said, something of a chill to his words. "And it certainly doesn't strike me as the most admirable response." Amherst shrugged a shoulder.

"Perhaps not to you."

"You think otherwise?" This was meant to be offhanded and distant, but instead sounded almost hopeful. Amherst hid a smile.

"I might."

"Even so," Bond shifted his attention to the window, "I hope you won't make a habit of causing it."

"I'll try not to."

"Hm." An irritated tone. "Very comforting promise."

"What would you like me to say?"

"Something along the lines of promising you won't-" he broke off.

"make you cry." Amherst finished. Bond almost, almost blushed.

"Yes. Promise you won't make me cry anymore." James said softly. Amherst glanced over at him, James's look asking him to vow that he wouldn't do the one thing he'd thought no one would ever have to swear to avoid. It had seemed impossible that 007 had such emotions. Amherst was glad he did, even as James seemed to hate that he did indeed have emotions and have not a clue about how to deal with them.

"I promise."

*

Bond was usually detached and professional when it came to the assignments he was given. Death was something he'd come to accept, and accordingly distance himself from emotionally. Lives were compromised regularly, and he just had to be grateful it wasn't his own and move on. But every agent had a weakness. Bond wasn't the type to submit to it, but his emotions took a bashing he had to sort out later.

As Bond left M's office, Amherst could see that something had been different. He'd just returned from some assignment, and looked unusually weary, and strangely detached. He had given M the report of the mission he'd been on, and rarely did he look so defeated.

"James" Amherst said softly, when Bond went to leave the room without so much as a word in his direction, "are you all right?"

"I'm fine." The normally confident voice was quiet, snappish. He closed the door behind him without so much as a backward glance. Amherst hesitated a moment.

"M, could I go home now? It's ten minutes to eight." He called out, received permission to do so.

"-and if you see Bond on the way out, remind him he has a vacation tomorrow, because he left before I could tell him." M replied.

"Sure. Bye" Amherst called out, and then bolted from the room. Amherst cut through the reception office, spent a few seconds pressing the elevator button, then ran down the stairwell, hoping the entire time that he'd be able to catch James. Bond didn't show emotions often, seeming him on the verge of a breakdown was unheard of. Amherst ran out of the building, saw James halfway down the block.

"James!" James turned towards him, and the look of desolation on his face was almost too much. "Going to your apartment?" Amherst asked. Bond nodded, deathly silent. "Want to come home with me instead?"

The look of gratitude on James's face was so absolute that Amherst was glad he'd chosen not to believe that James was fine, and dreaded to think of what would have happened if he had. Nothing that would scar, he knew, but it hurt to think of James being alone in the state he was in.

Later, nearing midnight, Amherst was gazing at the window, barely lit by the meagre moonlight, lying in bed and wondering when James would come over. He was currently wandering around the loft-like apartment, restless and silent, with the weak excuse of jet lag. It was a lie, they both knew it. He'd gone to Scotland for two days.

"James" Amherst called out softly. "It's almost midnight." James didn't reply, just wandered into the room, pulling off his shirt before climbing into bed next to Amherst. He moved close, resting his head on Amherst's shoulder.

"I can't sleep." He mumbled against Amherst's neck. "I just… can't sleep…"

"What happened?" the warm weight against him was comforting, and it felt like he was next to a heater. As usual, James's warmth did nothing to benefit 007 himself, and he clung tighter to Amherst. This close, his quivering breaths were obvious, as if fighting the threat of tears. Amherst slipped his arm around James, and the warmth kept him from being deceived into believing that Bond was emotionlessly cold inside.

"I…" James drew in a shaky breath, and Amherst almost didn't want to know what had happened, "There were…" he tried to say, but his words became lost in quiet tears. A soft, almost inaudible whimper from the intensity of the emotional anguish followed. For a few long unbearably minutes he was unable to speak. "Innocent people were killed" James eventually managed to whisper, "so many… and…and… there were children. They were so young, so, so young…" His ragged breaths were the only sound in the room, tears hot where they fell to Amherst's neck.

Part of Amherst's mind whimpered that he didn't want to get involved with a Double-O, didn't want to deal with the crippling apathy and sudden deterioration into grief, didn't want to help put the world back together after it fell apart again.

But then James broke down sobbing and the thought was forever gone. _I didn't have to get involved tonight,_ Amherst thought vaguely, reaching his other arm over to complete his embrace of James, who curled up against him with a strangled moan of something far too close to agony for either's comfort, _I could have let him go._

But to let him go once tonight would be letting him go forever. Amherst already feared he'd be forced to do that someday, he didn't want to do that now. Not thinking of that day, Amherst kissed the top of James's head, listening to his sobs and wondering if apathy wasn't nothing more than an abstract ideal.

*

The next morning, rain was pounding at the windows to a relentless tune. Amherst got out of bed, shooting a glare at his alarm clock, blaming it for how he'd forgotten to set it again. He had an hour to get to work, and to figure out how to make it appear as if Bond hadn't stayed the night, because arriving at the same time was sure to arouse suspicion. _At least he's asleep,_ Amherst thought, looking down at him. James had eventually cried himself to sleep, hold on Amherst never loosening, and the entire ordeal was enough to break his heart. Amherst pulled the blankets back up to James's shoulders and left the room.

James didn't particularly like waking up and finding Amherst gone, but he could hear him moving about in the next room, and that was comforting. James couldn't yet find the will to get up, staying sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. He always dreaded the inevitable, recurring crush of guilt and regret; his old solution was to attempt to forget by way of getting drunk. This, though, didn't hurt so much in the morning. The worst part of his job was unavoidable, but he felt able to live with himself at the moment, even though he didn't have himself to thank for that.

He glanced up at the sound of footsteps, as Amherst came into the room. His hair was still wet from his shower, shirt and tie undone. "You're awake" He paused to kiss James, continuing to get ready. James was silently thankful that Amherst wasn't mentioning anything from the previous night as he collected his watch, wallet and keys from the dresser. "I have to go, or I'll be late" James groaned at that.

"Then I'm late, too."

"You've got a day off." Amherst glanced at him in the mirror, then away.

"Oh…" James trailed off, thoughts working back to the inevitable solitude, and the setting that would worsen it. His own apartment was worse than a hotel room, because it was intended to be a home, and so plainly wasn't.

"Will you be here when I get home?" Amherst asked mildly, frowning down at his tie and his inability to knot it properly. James almost couldn't speak. _He's so…_ he couldn't finish the thought, watching Amherst in the mirror, _I've never been this lucky._

"Can I be?" he asked softly.

"I'd like that." James saw Amherst's gentle smile, and wondered how he'd finally, after all his life, gotten truly lucky. _I've never had a saviour before,_ he thought, watching Amherst, _and I almost walked away from him..._

..................


	9. Goodbyes

Amherst knew he was being almost petty, but when Bond showed up outside the office on Thursday evening, he didn't meet the agent with the warmest of greetings. The sulky thought _'you didn't say goodbye before you left'_ was in his mind, eyes and touch- or lack thereof. Bond just watched him, standing before him, arms crossed over his chest.

"I come when I'm not supposed to, and you act like this?" Amherst could sense Bond mentally drawing back from him, but stood his ground all the same.

"It's not like you came back because of me." When that gaze met his, he knew he'd misunderstood.

"You don't know that."

"What, did you miss me or something?" Amherst said, heavily sarcastic. But James drew him close, putting his arms around him.

"God, yes." Bond breathed, tightening his embrace: _don't hurt me like that._ At this, Amherst regretted his standoffish behaviour. His promise was still all-too clear in his mind. _Promise you won't make me cry anymore._

"I'm sorry." Amherst realized numbly that, again, he'd dismissed the thought of Bond having emotions from his mind. It was an easy mistake to make, one he hated he kept on repeating. "I just missed you." James smiled, the first real one Amherst had ever seen.

It faded rather quickly, though, when he saw the conflict in Amherst's eyes.

"What?" Bond asked slowly, hesitant.

"Nothing."

"Tell me."

"I just… I was thinking again, about being serious…" the words brought an instant, aversive reaction. Bond didn't reply for a few long moments. When he did speak, it was merely to tell Amherst that he was going to the airport, to return at some unknown date, later.

Again, he didn't say goodbye.

*

"You shouldn't be here." Bond looked away from him, looking out at the water that was a darker blue than his eyes. Amherst shoved his hands in his pockets, watching Bond. "Why the hell did you come?"

"M asked-"

"I know a lie when I hear it. You volunteered. You actually _volunteered_." Amherst recognized the underlying intensity to Bond's voice, but for the life of him, couldn't understand it, "I told her never to send someone from the office again. _Never"_

"Why… not?" He was striking even in his anger, and Amherst had never seen him so livid.

"Because." James's voice sounded strangled as he turned away, "I don't want you here."

"Why _not?!"_ Amherst's pent up frustration flooded through his voice, frustration at Bond's apathy, lack of intimacy, and the way he had to be so detached all the time. "You don't seem to want me anywhere, so why not here in particular?"

"Fields died when she came to retrieve me." Bond's voice was stony, emotionless. "And…" He struggled to speak again, emotions back, anger dragging at his words, "and I don't want anything to happen to you."

Amherst didn't believe him.

"You certainly don't act like it." James finally turned to face him, glaring him down.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Anyone else would have been in tears, and he'd turned instead to anger, a tortured sort of look on his face. Amherst wasn't about to let him get away with anything.

"Because I want to know why you can't always show that you care about me, if you even _do"_ Amherst shot at him. Bond's anger didn't lessen. His stare didn't waver, and although Amherst was seized by the desire to kiss him at that very moment, he didn't move.

"I _do_ care about you." Bond finally threw at him, "and if you die, I won't have anything left that matters- I don't want your death to be my fault, because I _do_ care about you. I care about you more than I damn knew it, but I don't know _how_ to show it, and I'm _sorry-"_ his words began to tumble out faster, in a rush of cold, hard anger, "I'm sorry I drew you into all of this, because I didn't mean to and I didn't want to ever put you in danger, but I swear to you, I won't let anything happen to you, because I owe you that at least. And even thought I didn't intend to, and I didn't think I would and I don't want to- _I love you!"_ he finally snarled, anger getting the better of him in his insistence to be understood, forcing his scream from his lips to echo over the water surrounding the pier. Amherst was silent. Bond didn't move, watching him with that angry, blue-eyed gaze. The wind swept by them, going out to sea, and nothing more could be heard for a few long minutes.

Amherst was going to speak, as soon as he found a way to say it, he wanted to tell James he loved him, but that refused to be spoken, because as much as he wanted to say it, Bond's words held him back. It was too hard to believe him. Evidence, the currently silent voice whispered, evidence, evidence, evidence. There was none. _We were almost so close,_ Amherst thought, drawing in a breath but saying nothing, _almost._

Silence. Bond stalked off, leaving Amherst alone on the pier, the wind howling around to reverberate James's screams.

*

M signalled for Villiers to disconnect the call when the dial tone filled the room. "It doesn't exactly surprise me that they haven't found him" she said, watching the screen that was still before them, showing a slowly rotating world map, with no red light to indicate the location of their mark. "And it certainly isn't shocking that our top negotiator wasn't able to bribe it out of our lead" she said sarcastically, referring to Bond's two-day trip to Scotland, where he'd been sent to find their only lead and bribe them into telling the location of the man they were seeking. Amherst flinched at the memory of the trip from which James had returned battered and broken, but pushed aside all memories.

"Strange" Amherst said flatly, "Such a cold negotiator should be able to compromise anything to get the job done." M noticed nothing in his tone, just shook her head.

"I've seen colder men brought to their demise by that man"

"Colder?" Amherst repeated, not meeting her inquisitive look as she turned from the screen, "You'll never find a colder man." _I love you. I don't want to._ M looked mildly surprise at his bitter contempt.

"I'm going to another sponsor event tonight, would you mind terribly if I needed you to come?" she asked instead. "I believe you know the host, Camile Roberts?"

"Yes ma'am." Amherst shut down the computer program, and the rotating map vanished from view. M nodded, started back towards her office. She paused, though, looking back over her shoulder.

"Bond will be in attendance" M added. Amherst forced himself to show no response. "He returned when I sent you to bring him back, and hopefully will not be late."

Amherst said nothing, he couldn't.

*

Amherst had wandered around the far end of the pool to where there were fewer people, talking and laughing quietly, drinks in their hands. It didn't escape his notice, however, that Bond had followed him, as he'd been doing so all evening.

"What do you want?" he hissed over his shoulder when Bond was standing with his back to him, finally breaking the silence between them.

"I just want to talk to you. Please."

"You never just want to talk. Then again," he added bitterly, "But we are in public, so I suppose it makes sense that you wouldn't want to do anything but perhaps talk."

"You misjudge me."

"No, I'm judging you based on what I know about you, _which isn't much."_

"I'm aware" Bond said stiffly. "And I'm sorry." Amherst was silent.

"Villiers?" M's voice carried over. He turned, just as a girl was walking by to cross the deck. The result was her stiletto snagging his pant leg, and him flailing to keep from losing his balance and losing it anyways. His heel hit the edge of the pool and although he managed to grasp the edge with his fingertips, he ended up falling into the water anyways. Hardly anyone noticed the quiet splash, however, as he went underwater. "Villiers?" M's voice was distant. "Bond, have you seen him?" Amherst struggled to get out of the water, flailing around for a moment. Then there was a second splash, and a strong arm came around him and pulled him to the wall a few feet away, and quite suddenly, he realized he was nose-to-nose with Bond.

"You all right?" Bond whispered. Amherst struggled to reply, trying to catch his breath. Bond helped him out of the water, pushing him back onto the deck and kneeling over him while he coughed out water. "Amherst" he murmured. Amherst took a breath, allowing himself to be pushed back.

"Thanks."

"I think you need more saving" Bond murmured insistently. "Mouth to mouth." An almost unnoticeable grind of hips against him, making him moan, and then Bond moved off of him.

"Exactly. I can't breathe." Amherst deadpanned, only half kidding about his apathy. "Help me, help me."

"Villiers? Are you all right?" M's voice, nearing again. Amherst inwardly groaned, knowing Bond's aversion to public showing he was associated with him, and then silently reprimanded himself for even caring. _Stay angry with him,_ he reminded himself, unforgiving, _damn him, why is he doing this?_ M appeared in Amherst's sight, concern on her face. James didn't even look up, just bent over him, crushing his lips to Amherst's. Unfortunately, even if his emotions were locked away for the time being, refusing to submit to Bond's seduction, his body knew its loyalties. Amherst eagerly opened his mouth to Bond's tongue, reaching up to run his fingers through the wet blonde hair. Then Bond smiled.

"You taste like chlorine." Bond purred. Drops of water dripped from Bond's hair to Amherst's cheek. He enjoyed it despite himself.

"And you're sexy when you're wet, I suppose is the answer you're expecting?"

"You're always quite irresistibly so." Bond smiled. He dipped his head again, kissing him harder, deeper.

"Right." Amherst said stonily once Bond had let up. "Like I'll believe anything you say." He pushed a shocked Bond off of him, getting up.

"Villiers, are you… all right?" M asked as he brushed by, looking slightly shell-shocked.

"I'm fine." The phrase rang of memories, of after Bond's Scotland mission- but Amherst shoved it away. M stared after him as he stalked into the house, where the hostess immediately saw him, thanked the heavens he hadn't drowned, and, because she was an old friend, laughed at him. Bond, meanwhile, had gotten to his feet, still dripping wet and avoiding M's bewildered stare. He couldn't quite piece together what had happened yet. Amherst was obviously livid, and Bond wasn't used to giving a damn about that sort of thing. But he did, and beyond that, he felt like he had a lot staked on apologizing for whatever he'd done and begging it better and forgiven.

M's voice broke him out of his daze, with an abrupt harshness that almost startled him.

"Bond, what the hell was that about?!" he turned towards her, met her angry gaze. Arms crossed over her chest, eyes narrowed, she was clearly livid with him.

"M, with all due respect, I can be with whoever-"

"I know full well that your relationships are your own issue" M said sharply, and Bond arched an eyebrow.

"Then on what grounds, exactly, do you have to be angry with me?"

"I don't think you fully understand the _impact_ one person has on another's life" M shot back, "you can't run reckless all your life, Bond. People get hurt."

"You don't have to worry about me." Bond said coolly. M matched his flat stare.

"I'm not. I'm worried about _him._ " And then, before turning away, she added, "We're not all like you."

An hour later, Bond had finished his tasks set for the party, and sidled up to Amherst afterwards, asking in a whisper if he wanted to leave early, because he wanted to talk. After a moment of silent debate, Amherst asked a still-shocked M if he was through for the night, and she allowed him to leave.

Half an hour later, they were back in the same café they'd been on that rainy day, tucked into a corner table the other customers envied them for.

"So..." Bond said slowly. Amherst didn't look up, fiddling with a sugar cube on the table. "I take it you're angry with me." This earned him nothing more than a glance. He waited. And then he got impatient. " _Why?"_ the desperation was something he hadn't wanted to reveal, but reached Amherst at last. Amherst raised his head, fixing his gaze on Bond.

"I'm sorry it's such a curse to be in love with me. It's not something I can help, is it?" At his words, Bond felt a dizzying rush of regret.

"I didn't mean it like that." Bond mumbled.

"So how, if not like that?" Amherst demanded. Bond hesitated.

"I didn't ever want to get so involved with someone, because-" a pause, before he admitted something he'd never confessed to before, "I'm scared that something will happen to you, because you're involved with me. And even if anything doesn't, I don't want my life to so directly affect someone else, because everything I have to do is so dangerous. I didn't even think I'd get this far."

"You are now." Amherst said quietly. "Why?"

"I can't let go. I think love is like revenge… it stops making sense, and you stop caring about anything else, just live for it and can't be diverted, and you can't control much about who and when and why." Amherst looked away like that.

"Only a double-O would relate love to revenge."

"It's because before you, that's all I knew in the way of extreme emotions." Around their table, no one was paying attention to them, and the feeling was strange, because Bond knew that, not so long ago, he'd been one of the whirling non-audience around relationships, never involved with anyone himself. Amherst wasn't saying anything, had yet to give much of a direct answer to anything, but there was still something Bond had to know. "Do you love me?" A long pause.

"Yes." No question, no elaboration, no defending, no accusing.

"The entire time?" Bond asked softly, hoping that it wasn't true, because if it was… he would have hurt Amherst so often and so, so badly.

"Yes." Amherst mumbled. Bond nearly cringed, nearly cried, the effects of his apathetic actions too obvious when reflected in the eyes of someone else.

"Can we be serious? Not like before, but... truly serious? Because I love you." Amherst looked surprised at that, something that was almost disbelief in his amber eyes.

"You want to be?" his tone was quiet, and Bond couldn't detect hopefulness, just a desolate, hurt hollowness he knew the reason for and wished desperately that it wasn't the case.

"More than anything. That is," James added, "If you still want to be."


	10. The Only Link

Amherst woke to an empty bed and for a moment, he was shattered.

Then he heard the gentle hiss of the shower.  _He acts like this is his own place, more so than he treats his own apartment,_ he thought, amused, as he got up to go see if he could angle his way into joining Bond.

"There you are." Bond was standing before the shower, testing the water with his hand, and, Amherst noted, he had a disappointing amount of clothing on. Even one article was too much for his taste. "Took you long enough to wake up." He arched an eyebrow. "Waiting for something?"

"Yes." Amherst matched his gaze. "You, to take off your damn clothes and get in the shower." Bond obeyed, all in a matter of four seconds. Amherst joined him in two. His amusement doubled when he discovered that James was even warmer than usualwhen he was in the shower. He put his arms around James from behind, closing his eyes against the spray of water. "You're so warm"

"What are you, the human thermometer?"

"I swear you're the only one that's this warm." He dropped his touch lower, rubbing slowly. "And I'm not going to share you."

"Good." James murmured. Amherst trailed his tongue down Bond's back, eliciting a deep purr from 007.  _So he can scream and purr,_ Amherst thought with endless amusement as Bond parted his knees and Amherst seized the opportunity,  _there's so much no one else knows about him…_

Monday morning, Bond strode into the office at eleven, having spent the morning dawdling around Amherst's apartment while Amherst himself went to work, and when Amherst looked up, was standing before the desk, watching him.

"Do you have an appointment?" Amherst asked with a sly grin. Bond glowered at him. Amherst knew full well that Bond had just about lost his voice, and Amherst alone knew why. He'd been in a rather merciless mood the previous night, and that added to the heightened hope he'd had after his near-drowning scene, had resulted in an intensity that had made Bond scream so much, he'd lost his voice. "Well?" More glaring, and then Bond reached across the desk, grabbed his tie, pulled him forward and kissed him hard to show his frustration. Their timing was spectacular, Amherst realized, as not a moment after they'd broken apart, M opened her office door.

"Ah, Bond. Here to confirm your attendance for tonight? I expected you'd ignore the RSVP date, and here you are, only hours ahead of the event itself." She rolled her eyes and left the office. Bond turned back to Amherst.

"What day is today?" he managed to ask, voice hardly more than a hoarse whisper. Amherst grinned.

"You don't know?"

"It's… Thursday. Right? Yes. Thursday. So what?" His impatience was made almost tolerable, due to his lack of voice.

"Coming to the party tonight?"

"What party?!" Bond moaned, smacking a hand down on the desk and glowering at Amherst. Amherst merely smiled.

"Hotel Grandiose. 1321 Port Haven Street. Seven o'clock, black-tie." He saw Bond's almost calculating look, knew that 007 had already committed the information to memory.

"I'll be there, but am I to have no clue as to the purpose for this event?" he asked dryly. Amherst shook his head, refusing to let his sorrow show on his face as James left the office.  _He's so detached,_ Amherst thought, as the door closed and footsteps faded away.

"Hello" M said mildly, entering the office. Amherst looked up. "You had to tell him the party was tonight, didn't you?" M said, exasperation infringing on her tone's placidity. "I swear, sometimes you're the only link to normalcy he has."

"Perhaps..." Amherst murmured. It was more true than M knew. "Oh, and Bond will be in attendance at the Christmas party tonight."

*

"You didn't tell me Christmas was the day after tomorrow" Bond murmured in Amherst's ear, finding him in the outskirts of the crowd in the hotel ballroom.

"I thought you'd know. It's only one of the most widely observed holidays on the face of the earth..." He noted that, as ever, Bond looked particularly dashing in a suit. "I mean, how could you  _not..."_ he trailed off, fearing he was about to go too far. James shrugged a shoulder, and glanced away.

"I don't keep track of stuff like holidays..." he muttered, then plunged on, "I kind of rely on you to keep me grounded."

The suddenly heartfelt turn in words made Amherst stare at him for a few seconds.

"Villiers? Would you be so kind as to join me for a moment?" M called him over, a client at her elbow.

"I'm glad there's something only I can do for you" Amherst said to James, before slipping away to speak with M, but not before seeing the genuine smile his words brought to James's face.

But not an hour later, the seriousness of their relationship was put to the test, and Amherst wished it didn't have to be so soon.

"You're just a womanizer at heart, aren't you?" A woman was teasing Bond, one hand flickering flirtatiously over his arm. Amherst heard this- not eavesdropping, but closer than he cared to admit- and his heart sank a little.

"Only because my job demands it" Bond answered breezily, giving a spark of hope, "But at heart, I'm not."

"So if not…?" James smiled.

"Just a certain man's lover."

Any flicker in Amherst's faith in James was steadied, and took a never-ending vow to remain in his heart.

*

James was packing, if it could be called that. The reason he was always able to leave almost as soon as he was told to for an extended amount of time was because he could pack in ten minutes. He was tossing clothing towards a small suitcase, already nearly done, after only seven minutes spent packing. He left the bedroom- his mind refused to call it  _his_ bedroom, he had an easier time claiming at least partial possession of  _Amherst's_ bedroom, he spent so much time there, as of late, a tendency he planned on continuing for as long as he could- and went into the front room in search of his wallet. As he located it and pocketed it, however, his attention was snagged by something else. The small box was black, tied with a white ribbon, sitting in the centre of the low glass coffee table. He approached it slowly, his first instinct suspicion. There were fingerprints on the tabletop, and that eased his distrust. No one professional would leave their  _fingerprints_ lying about. He picked it up, examining the silken ribbon, the ink-black outside. And inside, a key, and a folded paper, nestled in the black velvet interior.

 _You've been everywhere,_ the note read, in comfortingly familiar handwriting,  _so I'm sure you can figure out what this unlocks._ A challenge. Bond was gone three minutes later, key in pocket.

*

Every morning, Amherst checked where Bond had been, saw the list grow longer and longer, farther and farther away from him, amusingly enough.

*

When Bond strode into the office at seven in the evening, a full three weeks after Christmas, he looked exasperated.

"Afternoon. Do you have an appointment?" Amherst asked, smirking.

"I've been everywhere" Bond leaned over the desk, and under his collar, Amherst could see the glint of the key on a chain. The thought that Bond kept it with him always was reassuring. "Ev. Er. Y. Whe. Re."

"I don't think so" Amherst smiled. "Because you obviously missed somewhere."

"Give me a hint."

"I shouldn't have to."

"Please?"

"Much as I like to see you beg, no, you'll get it eventually. Just think about it." The lack of an answer was making Bond impatient.

"I'm not in the mood for thinking. Care to offer something else for my time?"

"Well..." Amherst grinned, "I know what I'd like to do with my time..."

It always amused Amherst, the way the night ended. James had curled up next to Amherst in the way he had, like screaming made him twice as vulnerable and he had to have a hold on Amherst to be able to sleep. And Amherst could hardly complain. James turned his face into Amherst's neck, and Amherst ran his fingers through the blonde hair.

"Tell me what the key unlocks?" James murmured, for at least the twelfth time. Amherst pressed a kiss to his lips.

"Nope. You'll figure it out."

"Like hell I will. You're too clever for me sometimes." Amherst laughed softly at that.

"Says the most brilliant agent in M16."

"Yeah, but that doesn't include the  _secretaries,_ now does it?"

"I like to think of myself as an aid..." Amherst began in a decidedly sulky tone, and Bond laughed.

"Whatever you say." He said it with an underlying conviction that took it from sarcasm to honesty, like he truly would believe anything Amherst chose to tell him.

"Did you mean what you said?" Amherst asked a few minutes later, "about how I keep you in the real world?"

"Yes." James said. Amherst felt him move closer, unbelievably warm against him. "You're my only link to reality." he drew in a breath, closing his eyes, "I don't know what I'd do without you..."

He did, however, have some faint idea of what his life would resemble, were Amherst to be removed from it. But that was something broken and unbearable, and somehow, Amherst understood this.

"I'm never leaving you."

 

 


	11. What's Meaningful

Amherst had woken up crying, but the ridiculousness to his dream made him reluctant to wake Bond. He half wanted to, just to confirm that the nightmare truly wasn't real. Amherst forced himself to decide that Bond's presence beside him was enough, brushing away beside him or not, Bond's death had seemed frighteningly real.

It was every time he dreamed it, but at least this time, he had proof it wasn't real. It was still hard to chase away the lingering pain, though, he realized, as a stifled sob escaped him. James stirred.

"Hey" he murmured, blinking blue eyes at Amherst sleepily. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." A soft kiss was pressed to his collarbone.

"Go back to sleep." The lull of his voice was hard to resist, but the fear that still pulsed through him made him immune.

"I can't." The fabricated memory of flames still invaded his thoughts, relentless.

"Why not?" James kissed his shoulder, gentle.

"Just can't."

"Okay" Bond put his arm around Amherst's shoulders, dropping a soft kiss to the back of his neck. Sensing how deeply upset Amherst was, he tightened his embrace. "It's already two AM."

"And?" There was a quaver to his voice, a plead of silence,  _don't make this seem foolish, that would hurt me so much..._

"It's nearly morning." James's voice was soft, whispering to calm him.

"So?"

"If you can make it past morning, everything will be okay. Only what's meaningful stays past morning, so you'll forget it by then." James whispered, "I promise, love." Amherst curled up beside him, surprised that he could manage contentment so soon after dreaming the violent death of his lover. But Bond hadn't seemed like one for pet names, and Amherst found himself unaccountably in love. He himself hadn't bothered finding one for Bond- he was already the only person to call him by his first name only, something that, for 007, rang of deep intimacy, of an eternity's duration.

*

By ten at night, Amherst had finished almost all of the finance reports he was to have finished by the end of the week. Which was in six days. But on nights when James was out of town- or, rather, out of the country- Amherst found himself dreadfully bored. By ten thirty, he wondered why he even bothered to have a television, as he never found much to watch anyways. By ten forty, he'd discovered that his the best additions to his movie collection were all lent out to someone or other. And by eleven, he was courting insanity. At eleven ten, though, he heard the front door of his apartment being unlocked, and knew he was about to have a good deal of entertainment. Amherst looked over the back of the couch, watching the front door being pushed open. A very smug, triumphant Bond walked into the loft.

"I found out what the key is for." He announced, grinning. Amherst snickered.

"And it's only, what, February? Didn't even take you that long to figure out that it's for  _my loft_."

"In all fairness, you didn't say it was going to be in the country" Bond said sulkily, walking over and kissing him to cut short the smart remark that was sure to follow.

"I didn't think that the first place you'd check would be in Dobrich."

"I happened to be there, was all…" Bond defended himself. "So… I figured it out. Now what?" Amherst let him answer his own question, watching the realization dawn on James. "Are you… asking me to…" he paused, as if waiting for Amherst to point out a somehow obvious, far less intimate answer, such as 'waterthe plants while I'm on vacation' _,_ but when he said nothing, James continued, "move in with you?"

Again, a simple, one-word answer; Bond had never known that his whole life could hinge on just one single word from this one man.

Amherst smiled.

"Yes."

And as it turned out, it was to be a very entertaining arrangement, which Bond was the first to discover, nearing four in the morning. Bond was woken up by his phone, which he'd all-but forgotten about, ringing shrilly at him from the floor beside the bed. He groaned and rolled over, reaching to grab it. And although he failed to notice it, in the course of his none-too-graceful movements, he kicked Amherst in the back and sent the man out of the bed and to the floor.

"Hello?" Bond whispered, looking around for Amherst, who had vanished. Bond heard a moan from the floor, and moved over to Amherst, who was sprawled on the carpet, still half asleep, and completely confused.

"Bond, I- oh, wait. You answered your cell phone. Oh, my." M made a big deal out of the fact that, the previous four times that week, he'd missed the calls. "Where are you?"

"Uh… London." Bond leaned over the side of the bed, kissing Amherst as an apology.

"Wasn't your plane to arrive tomorrow? I was sending someone to pick you up."

"There was an opening on an earlier flight. Were you going to send Villiers, by any chance?" at his name, Amherst had looked up, and consequently, hit his head on the bedside table. He usually gravitated towards sleeping on the right side of the bed, but had ended up on the left when James had joined him. And there wasn't a table on the right side, so he wasn't used to having it there. The whimper that followed was heartbreaking.

"I'm sorry, love" James whispered, crawling back over and kissing him.

"What? And yes, I was." M said, heavy confusion to her tone. Bond watched Amherst climb back into bed, burrowing back under the blankets. "Anyways, I was just calling because you failed to check in on the scheduled flight. Just ensuring that you're not captured in Antarctica or something equally outlandish that I wouldn't put past you."

"I see. Thank you for your concern."

"And since you're in London anyways…" Bond groaned inwardly at her words.

"Shall I come in to the office?"

"If you would, please. It is of the utmost importance." Bond reached over and turned on the lamp that stood next to the bed. Amherst moaned, muffled by the pillow he'd pulled over his head. "I'm sorry" Bond whispered again, hoping that he'd stop forgetting that he was sharing the bed with someone. He hung up and got out of bed.

"Where're you going?" Amherst mumbled sleepily. Bond hurried to get dressed and grab his wallet, phone, and key from the dresser.

"M has to see me."

"At four in the morning?"

"I don't know what she wants. Must be important."

"You  _think?"_ The irritation was obvious. Bond pulled on his jacket, then went over and disentangled Amherst from the blankets.

"I'm sorry, love. Be back as soon as I can." He kissed Amherst softly. "I love you."

"I love you too, James." Amherst said, giving him a heart-winning smile before pulling his pillow back over his head to hide from the light, "even when you get up at four in the damn morning."

James glanced back from the doorway, saving the image of his lover curled up on the bed, and turned out the light.

*  
Bond had no idea what would happen as soon as he reached the warehouse. He'd been warned, he'd been cautioned, and yet no one had been able to tell him just what the danger would be. He hadn't even been able to get a car there, due to the secrecy of the whole ordeal, and had set out on foot. He'd been staring at the phone in his hand for the past five minutes, trying to decide if talking to Amherst would steady his nerves, or increase his anxiety. Need paired with love won out over doubt, and he called. Bond half expected his call to be ignored, just from the previous patterns, but Amherst picked up. "Hey, you answered." He couldn't help the surprise in his voice.

"Yeah. It's you."  _and you committed,_ his silence added warmly. James grinned.

"I was just thinking about you."

"Really?" Amherst sounded pleasantly surprised.

"Yeah. Do you miss me already?"

"Yes." Amherst answered honestly, taking their play down to the seriousness the situation demanded.

"I miss you too, love." James said softly. Neither spoke. Bond knew that M must have let slip just how dangerous the job was, from the strained tone to Amherst's voice. "Don't worry."

"Right" Amherst said sarcastically. "Why would I? You're only going-" he broke off, and James nearly cried. "James…"

"I'm sorry. I didn't think…"  _of you,_ he added silently, but thankfully, as he'd discovered again and again, Amherst's mercy, although it was nonexistent in bed (and in the backseat and against the wall, and…) he had a boundless supply otherwise, saved him, and Amherst didn't add that to James's sentence. "I'll come home." James promised quietly. The warehouse loomed on the horizon, awaiting him, taunting him with the dangers it held, locked somewhere deep within. "I love you. There's going to be a morning after this for us. I promise."

"I love you, James." Amherst whispered. Bond watched a car nearing him, coming from the direction of the warehouse, . Amherst seemed to sense that James had to go. "Goodbye…"

"Goodbye, love…"

*

It was admittedly stupid, but after hearing that broken whisper of agony when the official told the man that there was no way anyone else could venture into the crumbling warehouse, Bond's perspective on stupidity involuntarily swapped places with that on sensibility. "But Donald's still in there, on the third floor-" the man had protested, even as the officer shook his head no and began to move on, not hearing the desperate whisper that followed, "...and I love him." It made an association in James's mind that, had he thought further, he might have acted on differently, because what he thought was  _he loves him,_ and had that thought continued further, Bond might have thought of Amherst, and kept himself away from the scene that blazed of danger. But Bond never acted on his second thought.

And later, when Terrance was reunited with Donald, a single question still hovered. "He said his name was James Bond…" Donald had turned back to the wall of flames in the near distance, "...where is he?"

Memories of Bond wouldn't fade for him, and the joy of having lived was overshadowed by the knowledge that his saviour wasn't anywhere to be seen. He wouldn't forget, because he'd asked, mostly to keep his mind from the falling flames around them, after the key that Bond wore on a chain around his neck. And Bond had said it was to the apartment of the man he loved, and then those blue eyes took on a shocked, hurt look he almost immediately hid. That was when James had truly realized what should have been his second thought.

It was an action that, on normal circumstances, Bond would later reflect on as too dangerous and too risky, even for him. But as it turned out, there were no normal circumstances.

Nor was there to be a later, it seemed, unless he found a way out and a way back.

*

"Good morning!" Jenny trilled from her desk when Amherst walked by.

"Hello." He paused by her desk, the draw towards his office and work less than magnetic, "anything interesting happen this morning?"

"Procrastinating before you ever start working, I see. What would M say, Villiers?" Jenny shook her head, giving him a mock disappointed look, "or should I say  _Bond?"_ Amherst arched an eyebrow.

"Uh, if you did, I'd wonder about the reliability of your memory." But Jenny smiled brightly.

"Doesn't one usually adopt a different last name upon marriage?" She asked innocently. Amherst wasn't sure whether to be horrified she'd found out, or pleased at the suggestion of his promising future with James.

"How did you find out?" he asked instead, mildly. Jenny shrugged a shoulder.

"As I have told you many, many times before, I know everything." A devilish smile, "And I'm one hell of an eavesdropper."

"Shamelessly so. Besides, who's to say he wouldn't take my name?" Amherst teased back, and she giggled.

"Good point. We'll see who wins this one."

"Either way's good with me, really." Amherst's gaze strayed to the news report that was playing on the television mounted on the wall of the room. He hardly afforded it a second glance; fire, explosion, but Bond had lived, he had every other time. "M won't be too happy about that" he remarked, nodding towards the report. Jenny nodded.

"She doesn't really like his tendency to destroy property, does she?"

"Yeah... speaking of her, I should go before she gets mad..."

M was waiting for him in the office.

"Morning." He clicked into the computer, opening up, as he had every other day, the tracking on Bond. He didn't notice her grave expression, still distracted by the conversation with Jenny. It had a rather promising ring to it, and was a topic he'd have to take up with James, who would doubtlessly make noises about how his name was so famous, and... Amherst could envision where the conversation would go- straight to bed. Or, perhaps, somewhere more creative.

"Villiers." He looked up. M's usually distant expression was now one of something like regret. "There's something you should know."

A sense of dread crept over Amherst, and then the image flashed up onscreen. He waited to be comforted by the information it would deliver.

But it was different this time.

The single word burned itself into his mind, smouldering before his eyes, devastatingly final. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the screen, tears welling in his eyes.

M's voice came to him, straight from his nightmares, but in those, he'd been coaxed back to sleep by a warm touch and whispered comfort, that warmth promising him it wasn't real, and this, this was something he'd never get to banish by morning, this would _never go_   _away.._. After this, there would never be another morning, never again.

"Bond is dead."

No morning at all.

 

 


	12. No Promise Broken

M was back at her desk, already wishing the day was over. Telling Villiers was possibly the worst part. First was the news of the death of her youngest double-O, and that was difficult to take. Granted, she barely knew him personally, but he was an admirable agent and fairly easy to work with when he felt like being so, and so close to a son it was dangerous. He'd died honourably, yes, he'd completed the mission and doubled the glory attached to his name, but that wouldn't fix anything. She'd known the mission would be dangerous- and he'd known, too. The only one who hadn't was Villiers, and when she'd accidentally mentioned it only hours after Bond had left, the barely-concealed horrified look had crushed her heart. She'd hoped so desperately that it would prove to be a groundless fear, but the report, early in the morning, had changed that.

M and head of S, the department were Villiers had worked before coming to M's office, had fought over who had to tell Villiers, for the better part of an hour. She'd lost.

And she knew, she could see it, that the news had just killed him.

From the looks of it, Bond was the one who'd gotten off easy. It hadn't taken her long to figure out what was going on, especially after the incident by the pool. And, she realized belatedly, the other voice she'd heard when she'd called Bond in at four in the morning, that irritated, sleepy voice, had been Villiers, who had undoubtedly been woken up by the call, and when Bond had said- what was it? She'd thought it so strange- oh, " _sorry, love",_ it had been,she'd never thought that he was talking to someone else... That was the call to tell him about the job, which he'd taken.  _I wish I hadn't called him,_ M thought desperately,  _I wish I hadn't stolen him._

She heard a soft sob from the other office, and wished that there could have been something, anything, to have disconnected that call before Bond had picked up. That something, she knew, could have been a conscience, could have been guilt, could have been _anything_.

She hadn't just unknowingly sent Bond to his death, she'd also delivered the fatal blow to the only person he'd ever loved.

The guilt, she knew, would never leave her.

*

Nearing two in the morning, Amherst hadn't slept at all. Every time he'd tried, he'd remember, and the pain would start all over again. Everything had a memory attached to it, and made it that much harder to forget, even for a little while. M had given him an undefined amount of time off, and the last time he'd seen her was at the funeral, an impersonal gathering where no one knew much more about Bond than his name and favourite drink; the truly knowledgeable knew the car he preferred, but that was the extent of anything. The fact that it had been empty-casket made it that much worse. Amherst had hoped that the finality of it would help him to let go, but it only made him rediscover just how much he'd miss James.

After a week, Amherst forced himself back to work, but even with M's best attempts to avoid speaking about Bond, it was nearly impossible, and out of sympathy, she sent him home again.

"I understand what you're going through" she'd said, in a tone that was strikingly motherly, the compassion present nearly making him cry, like she knew better than he did how much heartbreak hurt, "go home, Amherst. Don't come back until you can." And back home he'd gone, although he doubted that was much better for him. At work, everyone had to speak about Bond, he'd been involved in everything. At home, every moment reminded him how much he needed James.

At M16, M was realizing, yet again, how much she relied on Villiers. She was searching through files, seeking the finance report, which he usually left on her desk. But he hadn't been there, hadn't for the past two weeks because she'd forced him to go home, and she'd left the report somewhere, and couldn't remember where.

"How're you fairing without an aid?" Jeremy asked. The head of S had come in that morning, along with his assistant Jeremy, who had seen the empty desk and known nothing of the circumstances behind it.

"Pitifully" S answered for her, handing M a stack of files.

"So why give him a vacation if you need him?" Jeremy looked up from the clipboard in his hand. M stopped flipping through the papers she'd been given, looking towards the empty desk in the other room.

"He was involved with Bond." When this didn't lift the bewildered look on Jeremy's face, she sighed. "They were living together, too, as of recently."

"Oh" Jeremy drew in a sharp breath, looking away. He, as everyone else in M16, was seasoned in the heartbreaking aftermath of an agent's death. He'd been there for long enough. "I'm sorry to hear that." S sent him back to the third floor to retrieve something, and when he'd gone, turned back to M.

"So how fares M16 without 007?"

"I never thought he'd die" M said, her voice hollow, staring at the computer screen, Bond's picture stamped with the dreaded _deceased_ mark. "It didn't seem possible. He always came back, I never even thought…"

"I suppose it was just time for him to find another life." M didn't reply. "Did he have family?"

"No." M turned away from the screen.

"Friends?"

"Hardly." It sounded increasingly dismal, discussing Bond's private life.

"Anyone?"

"Yes" from her office, the empty desk was obvious, including the corner Bond had claimed as his own, so he could tease Amherst, and, as was discovered later, flirt and charm his way into the first heart he'd ever found a place in that he wanted.

_Your handwriting is atrocious._

_Are you going to mock me all morning?_

_Yes._

"They were that intimate? How's he taking this?" M went over and pulled the door shut.

_Want to go out for a drink?_

_Why?_

_Because I'm asking you to._

"Not well. But nothing else could really be excepted of him, in this situation."

"Have you done anything?"

"I sent him to the gravesite today, like you recommended. He's there getting some closure, hopefully."

Amherst wasn't. He was looking down at the tombstone, fighting tears.  _Maybe you were right,_ he thought,  _you knew I'd get hurt and you knew that you'd end up dying someday too soon._ But even if he'd known it for sure, he supposed he would have stayed anyways.  _Nearly a month already and I still can't even think about getting over you._ Staring down at the grey stone, blurred before his eyes, M's words began flooding back to him, words he hadn't been meant to hear.

_His body hasn't been found. The warehouse was consumed by flames at that point. No, we're certain he was there. They found his watch and phone. Yes, we had put that chip in his arm... he took it out a while ago, unfortunately. Yes... Well, someone said he'd gone back in for someone, yes, unusual hero-like behaviour for him, unfortunately. No, there were far too many bodies to be able to tell which-_

It wasn't fair. Amherst knew he hadn't been promised anything- not even that Bond would be there the following day, but it was almost that worse. He hadn't broken any promises by dying, so there was nothing left to connect him to Amherst, not in any realm of imagination.

_He said we'd have another morning._

But he hadn't, not word for word. Perhaps Bond had gotten his own morning, in the freedom death warranted him. Amherst had forgotten what it was like to need someone so much, if he'd ever known it to such an extent. It had been a long time since there had been anyone he loved, and never to such a painful extent.

_You're a dreadful cynic, do you know that?_

_Yes, but it's been a while since anyone's told me that._

No goodbye should be forever, and Amherst wished desperately that theirs hadn't been.

_Goodbye, love._

The irony was paralyzing.

Someone more cynical than Amherst would have enjoyed it.

*

"Vi- _lliers!"_ M tried again. Amherst's head snapped up.

"Sorry, sorry. Yes?"

"Please call Janine Murphy and tell her she can come in an hour earlier today." After Amherst had followed the instructions under M's watchful gaze, she closed her office door again. Amherst tried to hold his attention to the appointment book, tried desperately. But he kept hearing that voice in his head, worsened because of how it used to be whispered from right next to him, quiet, just for him. Amherst dove back into his work, trying to attach his attention to the words on the page, as if the long, technical sentences could somehow serve as some sort of anchor.

_You don't mind if I stay?_

"Hello… I'm here to see M" A woman stood in the doorway of the office, who he'd spoken to on the phone the previous day. Amherst hadn't even noticed the door open.

"She's in her office." He opened the door for her, slumping back in his own chair after the door had closed again.

_Yes, but it's been a while since anyone's told me that._

A month and a half had gone by. It felt like twenty minutes. Sometimes it felt like there'd never been a time before it that was tangible enough to hold onto.

_See you then._

After work had ended, Amherst had hoped he would somehow find a way to escape the memories, if just for an hour or so. Any hopes he'd had were dashed, however, when the ringing phone turned out to be his sister calling.

"Hi, Christie..." He tossed his jacket across a chair, going to stand by the window so he wouldn't be able to see the kitchen, which made him think so vividly of James.

"Hi! What's been happening? How's James?" He'd told her when James had moved in. He'd neglected to call her since. "Amherst?" He sighed, leaning against the wall, looking down at the street. He could see the place in front of the building where they'd fought, the fight that had made James cry, for the first time in a long time.

" He... he died. While on a mission." Tears burned at him, but he tried to fight them. "About a month ago."

"Amherst" Christie gasped; he could almost see the sympathetic look in her eyes. "Honey, I'm so sorry... why didn't you call me sooner?"

"I just... I don't know. I couldn't really talk about it, it's just... I talked to him right before... and he said he'd come back..." he trailed off.

Christie spent the next few minutes attempting to comfort him, until the subject rolled around to the future. "Maybe you should find someone else."

"I couldn't" Amherst put his head in his hands, almost wishing he could just hang up and make the suggestion disappear.

"Why not?"

"Christie… once you've been with James Bond… there's no one else who could compare."

"He was that great?" She asked, a little dryly.

"No." Amherst closed his eyes, forcing away memories. "It's because… he didn't love anyone before. He didn't let anyone know him. Except…"

"He loved you" Christie's voice was soft with sympathy.

"No one else could be that kind of lover. It was like he wouldn't share himself with anyone else in the world… no one else would be able to be like that." It was because Bond loved no one else, and whether Amherst had ever realized it or not, Bond had needed him, wholly and deeply.

"Maybe there'll be someone else" Christie offered softly. Amherst shook his head, although she couldn't see that.

"Not after him." Not after hearing his voice, after seeing his real smile and hearing his honest laugh, making him cry and kissing him better, not after making him scream from pleasure and then from the agony of caring and worrying and blaming himself, all too much, not after hearing  _I love you_ for the first time from him, screamed and snarled and thrown to the wind because, really, he'd never honestly said it to anyone else before… not after loving him, never after that.

For Amherst, even the thought of waking to someone else beside him was chilling, because he knew there would never be anyone that warm again.

*

Amherst had been certain that nothing could make it worse for him. Then it started to snow, reminding him of how nice being warm would be… how the crystal-blue eyes filled with amusement at the mention of a certain temperature, reminded him of a thousand things, right up to the second copy of his key, which was… he didn't even know where. That was one of the worst parts of it, not knowing where.

But if he were to truly dwell on it, as he had so avoided doing, the worst part was something far more impossible to move past, made it so that nothing meant anything anymore.

The worst part was that he'd given James his heart, and it had died with him...

Their morning would stay forever on the horizon, never reachable, leaving him in the coldness of the moments before morning, taunting him with what could have been, had that warmth lasted the whole night through.

Amherst would stand forever gazing at the horizon, waiting for their morning that would never come.

 


	13. Morning

 Work had become something nearly unbearable. M16 ran on paperwork, M always said, and Amherst had found this to be painfully true. He was familiar with how every successful mission had a mountain of paperwork documenting it, proving every fact established and justifying every act committed. What he hadn't known was that for every death, there was an endlessly barrage of paperwork, serving only, in his opinion, to freeze all emotion in a permanent state of heartbroken grief.

He couldn't quit, because if there was one thing that was worse than seeing  _that name_ over and over again, it would be to go on as if he'd never been there at all. Constant reminder, Amherst finally decided, was a shade less painful than committing himself to a silence where  _his_  existence, with its dire lack of evidence, would hide as if invisible, and, eventually, inevitably, nonexistent.

That morning, he'd received the bulk of the paperwork that had been intended to sidestep his desk, but someone had mislabelled, and it ended up before him, a stack of papers an inch high. Before the day was out, he'd flipped through the files, and had only learned that the very essence of Bond could not be explained by words. No report could do him justice, or even begin to describe how he could be both charming and ruthless, or any other facet of him. Of course, no one writing the reports even knew that, and Amherst had to resign himself to the fact that he was truly alone with his grief. Everyone else missed- to some short extent- 007. He missed James. There was a painful world of difference. One of the debates his over-tired mind had, when he unable to sleep late at night, at a time when the morning was not visible, was whether he wished he'd never met Bond. Days and days of sleepless nights had awarded him the answer: No. Bond's death may have torn his world apart, ripping it to ribbons and turning them to ash, but at least he'd had James for a while, however short a time it had been. But he did wish that he'd had just a little longer, because running off of barely a few months was difficult, and he needed more than that to sustain him for the rest of his life.

Memories were all he had left, and it wasn't enough to count on.

*

The doorbell rang and Amherst dragged himself away from his work, although he truly wasn't in the mood to deal with any of his neighbours. Thursday morning at four, he wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone, but sleep wouldn't grace him with its presence.

The doorbell rang and Amherst dragged himself away from his work, although he truly wasn't in the mood to deal with any of his neighbours. He forced himself not to cry at the thought of Bond that came with the lock on the door, at the memory of sending him trekking across the country with a key, and opened the door.

And then his recently demolished world shattered again.

Startlingly blue eyes were locked on his, and then the voice he never thought he'd hear again.

"Sorry I took so long to come home, love." James said softly. He was in an awful, heart-wrenching state. There was a cast on his left arm, an innumerable amount of cuts and bruises all over him, burns adorning his arms that mercifully weren't more than second degree, and he looked dangerously exhausted. Amherst couldn't say anything, just put his arms around James and held on tight.

"I can't believe you came back" he finally whispered. James managed a laugh, although it was a weak ghost of his normal one.

"I love you too much to let go."

Even twenty minutes later, Amherst was still unable to truly believe that James had come back. It was beyond believable, that he could manage to come back from his death. He was right before him, watching his every move, and yet, it was nearly impossible to believe.

"I went to your funeral" Amherst murmured, encircling James in his arms. "It killed me."

"I'm so sorry…" James bowed his head, and Amherst saw his fingers curling, the only outward sign showing his fight against tears. "It was a stupid risk. I shouldn't have… but…"

"What happened?" He pushed his nose into the blonde hair, tightening his embrace a little.

"I got out before it started burning. And then I heard someone talking to one of the officers, saying that someone was still inside… and the whole thing, it was just a mass of fire. But he said… he loved the man that was still trapped inside. So I went back." James drew in a breath. "Later, when I was taking him out, he asked about the key, and that's when I realized how stupid it was, what I was doing. But I sent him out first, right before that entrance closed up. I guess I got lucky in that I didn't die in there… I found a way out, after a while, and ended up losing consciousness right after I got out. I found a hospital, but they wouldn't let me leave for a while, I wanted to so much… but I couldn't have, no matter how much I wanted to." He fell silent.

"They think you're dead. Nothing could convince them otherwise, but…" Amherst trailed off. "Want to call M?" The thought, though, was near unbearable. To have to go through this again, to lose James again, but next time, Amherst knew, he very well might not come back.

One day, he wouldn't come back.

James had thought it over extensively during his recovery at the hospital. He'd been a double-o for quite a few years, and it was basically a dead-end job in the harshest way possible. It was suicidal. He'd never before cared; he had nothing else of substance in his life, no reason to care that his job had taken everything in his life, and no one to care if it took his life itself, too.

But now he did.

"No." James's reply surprised Amherst. "I don't want to go back. I've never gotten that close to dying. It was… it was terrible. I spent nearly half an hour in there, every minute, I thought it was going to be my last. I just… I didn't want to die in there. But walls kept falling in, and stairs would just disintegrate, so I kept going back down, and I thought I was going to die. And I just kept thinking of you…" he shook his head no slowly. "I'm not doing that again. I'm done. It wouldn't be just me I hurt anymore, anyways, would it?"

"No" Amherst agreed softly, "you wouldn't be the only one hurt."

"Maybe I'll just stay dead" James ran his fingers up and down his cast, thoughtful. "I wouldn't be able to do this for much longer, anyways. I'm damn forty. I don't really fancy having an early death. I'm already set for life."

"I like that idea" Amherst kissed him. "A lot."

There was a small commotion on the balcony as a flowerpot that dropped seemingly out of the heavens shattered on the balcony floor, and Amherst left to see what had happened. James watched him leave the room, talking to the woman upstairs who was apologizing profusely about the flowerpot her youngest child had knocked over the side. While Amherst assured her that it was fine, asked mildly why the toddler was out at four in the morning and was told that the child had wanted to see the sunrise, James went to the sliding doors, ignoring the protest of pain that followed any movement.

"You shouldn't be up" Amherst told him when James joined him on the balcony. "I wouldn't even trust you to stand right now." James grinned at the nurse-like tone.

"If I can't stand, do you really think that I should be allowed to, say, drag you to the bed and-"

"Well, perhaps that's a little ridiculous of you" Amherst grinned, "we can't have you banned from  _all_ movement."

"Precisely. Now, give me a second, and then I'll promise to lie down." One hand on the railing, he sank to one knee, reaching into his pocket and drawing out the box, the only thing he'd deemed important enough to delay his return home for a day. Then he looked up, saw Amherst's curious gaze upon him. "Will you marry me?" Amherst dropped to his knees to embrace him, and James felt tears touch his skin, Amherst's hold on him tight, but gentle enough not to inflict pain on injuries.

"Yes."

It was only four-thirty, Amherst saw when he'd followed James towards the bedroom. Amherst doubted the hospital had been very keen on letting him leave, given the only-just-healed status of his injuries. He was about to ask such when his phone rang.

"Who the hell calls at four in the morning?" James asked, flopping down on the bed. His presence in the room, something absent for far too long, was comforting. It had felt empty without him, wrong without him.

"M does, that's who." Amherst picked up the phone, "hello?" True to his prediction, it was M.

"Hello, Villiers-" she greeted him. He sat on the bed, watching James, who was tapping on his cast and frowning at it. M was blathering on about a lost report. "-S sent it to me this morning, and-" he was trying to listen, so he didn't notice when James had reached over and undone the buttons on his pants, but he certainly  _did_  notice a few seconds later, "-written by one of the agents, who just returned from-" James was moving his hand slowly, gently squeezing, and Amherst tried to betray nothing, "-oh, I can't remember now, far too early in the morning for memory recall, but anyways-" the movements became just a touch rougher, and Amherst clenched his teeth, wishing M would just stop talking, "actually, I think it was France...anyways, I know I was going to give it to you to type up, but I can't seem to find it..." a soft gasp met James's rub, "Villiers, are you still there?" James had changed his rhythm, faster, imploring for a reaction, and determined to get one.

"Nmm." Amherst tried to speak, but short of screaming, he couldn't. James grinned at the strangled whine, and started rubbing his hand in circles. A stifled moan escaped Amherst.

"Good. Anyways, have you seen it?"

"You-" Amherst tried to speak; James accordingly turned up the pressure. "-you gave it to me this morning" Amherst managed to force from his lips; one hand fisted in the sheets, knuckles nearly white. James just smirked at this and made it his personal mission to coax a scream from Amherst's lips, phone conversation be damned.

"Great. Never mind then. So sorry to have called you this early-"

"It's fine." Amherst's jaw tightened, and he glared over at James, "bye."

"Get some sleep."

"I will" James heard this, and shook his head. Then increased the roughness to his touch some more. Amherst tensed.

"Bye." He hung up the phone; the very second he did, before he could say anything, James gave a sudden, hard squeeze. Any words Amherst was going to say were lost, and a scream escaped him instead. James laughed while Amherst threw himself on top of him, kissing him hard.

"Fuck you, James Bond." He growled, kissing James hard, moving on to bite his neck. James laughed again.

"Oh, please do. I don't think you could have climaxed faster."

"We're competing are we? Watch this." One single, sudden movement, and Amherst had James screaming within ten seconds.

*

Friday morning, Amherst was practically falling asleep at his desk, and M blamed herself, oblivious to the fact that he'd been kept awake all night for another reason.

"It's five" she said, opening the door to her office, "you should go home, get some sleep."

"Great, thanks" He moved to shut off the computer, but paused. When M saw him pick up a particular file, one she'd taken great pains to keep out of his sight, dread overtook her. She froze.

"Villiers, I-" M started, eyes wide. The report was the one on Bond's death, and she'd  _told_ S that this particular file was  _not_ to be seen by Villiers... "They never found the body." She drew in a breath. "I'm so sorry. I didn't want to tell you..." she'd wanted to protect him, as best she could. But, as every mother finds out during her son's lifetime, she couldn't protect him from all the pain in the world. As it was, he'd already been subject to the worst kind of torture.

But now, he seemed strangely calm.

"It's okay." He handed it to her. Something in his eyes, though, that flicker of happiness, told her more, and as she continued to study him, saw the gold ring on his left ring finger, that she was certain hadn't been there before, she realized. Bond had indeed moved on to another life, because now, he wasn't just 007, and he wasn't just Bond.

During her stunned silence, he'd answered his phone, walked across the office.

"Villiers" She said, voice quiet. He was talking on the phone, and she couldn't make out his words, but there was a definite warmth in his voice. At the sound of her voice, he snapped his phone shut, turned back.

"Yes?"

"I am very sorry for the agency's loss. He was a miraculous agent." she said, tones measured. He nodded, confused, turned to go again. "And one more thing, Amherst."

"Yes?" a smile, secretive, sympathetic as he'd never seen from M.

"Give James my regards."

*

Later that night, well past four in the morning, Amherst was gazing out at the snow falling outside. James was curled up beside him, radiating heat. Amherst had sorely missed having James sleeping beside him, tucked perfectly against him. And that warmth... oh, how he'd missed that. No one else was so warm. When Amherst moved slightly, he woke.

"Why are you awake?" a kiss was pressed to Amherst's neck. Amherst smiled.

"Look."

"What?" James moved closer, skin against skin, so warm, moving gingerly so as not to inflict pain on still-healing injuries. Through the window, sunlight was beginning to seep into the room, advancing across the floor. The sun rose into the sky, slowly, always moving, always. Amherst had almost forgotten what it was like, watching the sunrise while feeling so warm, so close to James, always remembering what he'd said about making it through the night. Only what was meaningful would last the whole night through. Amherst turned to him, warmth at his fingertips, kissed him softly.

"It's morning."

 

 


End file.
